A/N: Okay. Lots of things. First—THANK YOU! It was so nice to see all of your names again, some old & some new. This story is almost four years old now (crazy) & it means a lot that some of you are still sticking with it. Second—this chapter is a bit long and jumpy as it goes from scene to scene, George to Katie quite a bit, so bear with me. And third—minor matter, but if you remember, I'd previously written Fred's grave so it seemed like it was on its own, sort of in the middle of nowhere. To tell the truth, I couldn't stand the thought of leaving him on his own in the snow, so I created a sort of cemetery this time around. So it's not quite perfect in continuity, but hopefully you can overlook that. Thanks again for your reviews—hope to hear from you again on this one if you can spare a second!

On Christmas Eve, the Burrow was—in a word—loud. Since his very earliest years, George couldn't remember a time when there were more people packed in the small house. Eight Weasleys, four Bells, Fleur, Andromeda and Teddy, Liz and Daryl, and Harry were all crowded around the noisy dinner table. To add to the congestion, Ron announced that Hermione would be joining them later in the evening for dessert. That would be 19 people altogether.

(An even 20 if Fred were here. But don't think about that now. Just don't.)

A barrage of Christmas gifts now threatened to overwhelm the Weasleys' small tree, and loudly clattering plates cluttered the dining room table. The Burrow was just as full in one sense as it was echoingly empty in another.

George had felt his mood dissipate as the guests started arriving, not because he felt any better, but because he knew it was pointless and impractical to sulk when you were struggling for standing room and could barely breathe. His mother had packed him in between Charlie and Percy for the evening; the former was shouting across the table at Michael Bell, while the latter was saying nothing at all. Sitting complacently next to her brother, Katie sat directly across from George. It may have been good intentions on Molly Weasley's behalf, but it was so loud in the kitchen that George could do nothing more than offer her a half-hearted smile, which she barely managed to return.

It was strange seeing her again. As Ginny had commented before, it had only been a three day separation, but George felt as though it had been a lifetime. That hovering distance between them that he had almost closed in their flat just days ago now felt like a gulf, the size of which was rivaling the English Channel. Not that she felt alien to him, just—rather untouchable.

She looked beautiful, George noted idly. He sometimes forgot she was, amidst the seemingly endless supply of oversized jumpers, ripped jeans, and quidditch tee shirts. She was always pretty, of course, but tonight she was truly beautiful. She'd curled her dark hair, which now hung just a little past her collar bone, and was wearing a tight-fitting red and white striped sweater with rows of little brass buttons at the sleeves. Her blue jeans were dark and looked new, and there was a flush at her cheeks—probably from the heat and bustle of the Burrow—that set off her light eyes. George found himself gazing at her with an odd sort of longing that the distance seemed to make cold.

For himself, he had tried at least somewhat to dress for the occasion. He and Fred had grown shameless with their money and taste for eccentric clothing for a while at the end, but after Fred died, George couldn't make himself look at the dragonskin boots and sharp-cut vests that stayed at the back of his closet. He opted instead for the old plaid button-ups and jackets of their youth. Tonight, however, he made somewhat of a compromise—a collared shirt and a pull-over sweater. He'd put on his flashing red Christmas tie earlier, but abandoned it after saying it clashed with his hair. In reality, he couldn't bear to wear something that contrasted so greatly with how he was feeling. Still, he'd put on a simple black one instead and combed his hair over his missing ear, and looked rather better than he usually did—or at least he thought so.

Not that it mattered.

"How's it going, George, alright?" Michael shouted over the noise. George looked up in surprise, and realized he'd been staring through Katie for the past few minutes.

"Alright," he answered, nodding shortly. "You?"

Michael nodded as well. "Good! Bit nervous for the quidditch final in a few days, though."

George shook his head, surprisingly relieved that someone had thought to bring up something other than Christmas (Fred), how he was feeling (Fred), and how much he was eating (Fred.) (Fred.) (Fred).

"No way," he returned with a bit more feeling than he had managed to muster over the past couple of days. "Everyone's giving you the edge."

"Oliver Wood, though."

"Wood can keep out goals. He can't catch a snitch."

"Still, I've got to get the job done quick, don't I? Before Puddlemere puts through too many goals for us to properly catch up. Their seeker's rubbish, but so's our keeper."

"Maybe. But don't end the game too quickly, or Alicia won't be properly impressed."

At this, Katie laughed slightly for the first time that evening and George managed a small smile. He opened his mouth to talk to her properly, but her attention was quickly claimed by Ginny, who seemed to want a second opinion on the length of Harry's hair.

Oh well.

(Fred.)

(Fred.) (Fred.) (Fred).

George felt cold all over.

XxX

After dinner was finished and dishes were cleared away, a hush fell over the large group and they began preparations to head out into the cold winter night. Everyone knew where they were headed, but no one said a word. Instead, they divided into small groups of family and friends, each journeying to a different location. Andromeda was taking Teddy to his parents' graves, and Michael was heading off by himself to Artemus's. Elizabeth, who had been to both her father's and her late husband's graves earlier that morning, was staying at the Burrow with Daryl to hold the fort and be there to open the door as they all came back. By far, the largest contingent was headed to visit Fred's tombstone. All of the Weasleys, along with Katie, her parents, and Harry would be walking the short distance to Ottery St. Catchpole's small cemetery in a short while. And Katie was trembling.

George noted this from where he leaned against the kitchen door frame, trying to escape everyone's notice. He didn't want this—this collective trip to his brother's grave on Christmas Eve. It felt perverse to put his feelings on display before his entire family and the others. Not that they hadn't seen it already, of course, but he dreaded it just the same. What if he broke down? What if he did nothing at all?

Katie was getting swallowed in the group of people now gathering at the door. She struggled to put on her bright red pea coat, her fingers shaking too much to properly fasten the buttons. George watched her struggle for composure, could almost feel her shortness of breath and that terrible sensation of being lost in a crowded room. Already bundled up himself, he crossed the floor and took both of her hands in his.

"Here," he murmured setting them gently aside and proceeding to button her coat for her. She looked up at him in surprise and immense relief, and in her closeness, George felt the old familiar ache of wanting her. It was duller now—those first uncomfortable feelings now three years gone at least—but it was still there. He ignored it and finished the last button, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before following Percy out into the night.

XxX

They moved like ghosts across the frozen countryside. No one said a word, each lost in his or her own thoughts, as Arthur quickly located the key to the small gate surrounding the cemetery. Katie leaned on her father's arm, taking in the innumerable curved gray tops of the town's tombstones. The world was quiet here, she thought, with the bodies of hundreds of loved ones sleeping silently underneath the blanket of snow.

She suddenly remembered that Cedric Diggory was buried somewhere nearby. The thought made her shiver. Cedric—the first of the countless Hogwarts students to be killed in the ravage of the second wizarding war. Just a child, really. They all were. She may have been 19 at the time, with a ring on her finger and a promise to keep, but there was no fooling anyone that they knew exactly what they'd be facing back then. They were fresh out of Hogwarts, still laughing at the things adults had long since forgotten; still dreaming the world would change and that things would get better. Now so many of them were gone, and they had suddenly transformed into grownups in the blink of an eye.

They had now reached the Weasleys' small plot at the back of the cemetery. Taking a deep breath, she latched tighter onto her father's arm and they began to climb the hill. She was dimly aware she was still shaking, still struggling to breathe properly. They passed through multiple Prewetts, Molly's brothers Gideon and Fabian for whom Fred and George were named, and several other names Katie didn't recognize.

The familiar sense of dread began to mount and as they reached the crest of the hill and Katie's eyes found Fred Weasley, she began to feel physically ill. Nicolas Bell steadied her, but the wash of color forming before her was already taking over. Molly quickly fell into tears and Arthur looked misty-eyed, while the others formed a semi-circle around the grave. Katie's mother began stroking her hair.

Fred.

She was moving, then. With her hands trembling and her breathing shallow, Katie's boots crunched in the snow as she took the few steps to the tombstone on her own. She bent to her knees, almost from exhaustion, and hung her head to stare at the words etched in marble. If I'd never known him, I never would have lived.

Her tears finally spilled over as she sunk further into the ground. Of all the emotions swirling around in her head, what seemed strongest was the unhappy sense of disconnect between who they were and who they ought to have been. Of how things would have unfolded had they lived in a better world.

Katie raised one gloved hand to wipe away the tears now streaming down her face. He must be so cold, she thought absurdly, with no fire and no friends to come home to now. Seeing her daughter was now weeping, Meda started forward but Nicolas held her back. Katie slowly unwound the scarf from around her neck and tied it gently around the base of Fred's grave marker.

"Happy Christmas, Fred," she whispered in a tone so low no one heard it. "I still love you. With all of my heart, I still love you."

Then a hand was on her shoulder and she looked up to see Charlie, gentle-faced and offering her a hand up. She accepted and he led her back to the circle.

They all took turns next, approaching the grave and whispering sentiments unheard by the others. Ginny wept, and so did Fleur. All the blood had drained from Ron's face and he was as pale as a sheet. Percy looked ill, Charlie solemn. Bill seemed unable to summon the strength he may have wanted, and Katie could no longer bring herself to look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

George alone hung immobile at the very end of the pack, and it was the look on his face that made Katie almost as sick inside as she had felt when they first left the Burrow. Because George Weasley looked lost. There was no other word for it.

She hadn't seen him in such a state since that first terrible night he'd seen his twin brother lying on the floor, pale and unmoving, and it frightened her. She longed to approach him, to bring him back down to earth the way he had for her, but he seemed past the point of amendment. Wherever George was, it was not here—not in this graveyard, standing with the rest of his family and his friends. He won't come back with us, she thought suddenly. He won't leave his twin. Not tonight.

Bring him back to us, Fred, Katie pleaded silently, tears still streaming down her face. Bring George back. Let him go…just for tonight, let him go.

XxX

George was frozen in the moment, unable to register what has happening around him. He stared at Fred's grave in a horrible fixation, and when Bill put his hand on his shoulder, he actually jumped.

"Let's go, son," Arthur said from where he was standing close by Bill, his arm around Molly's shoulders. "It's getting cold."

George opened his mouth, found he couldn't choke out the words he wanted to say, and settled for shaking his head violently.

"Come on, George," said Bill gently. "You'll freeze to death out here. We ought to get back to the house. We'll get you some tea, build a fire…whatever you like."

He shook his head again, and suddenly found his voice.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not…I'm not leaving him. Not here."

"Georgie," Molly pleaded, her eyes tearing up again.

"I can't leave him by himself on Christmas," he said stubbornly, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "I can't. I won't."

He felt them glance at one another and exchange looks. Then Bill tried one more time.

"George—"

George turned and looked his eldest brother in the face and Bill, seeing that he was really suffering, just nodded.

"Alright."

"Be careful, son," Arthur said firmly as Molly launched into a fresh batch of tears. "It's barely above freezing, and you can't stay out here much longer without it being dangerous."

George just nodded and turned back to Fred. He knelt in front of his grave as he had seen Katie do, resting his hand at the top of the tombstone. The others hovered, hesitated, and then began to retreat. Just when he was sure they were all gone, he heard one pair of light footsteps coming back. Katie walked up beside him, held out her wand and muttered Protego! A semi-transparent shield appeared over the gravesite, shielding it from the snow. George looked up warily and Katie bent down next to him, brushed his hair away from his face and kissed him gently very near the hole where his ear used to be. She squeezed his hand.

"Come back soon," she whispered, and then got up to leave. Shaking slightly, George turned to watch her go. She met her father, once again took his arm, and soon disappeared where the night sky met the snowy ground. He turned back around.

"Just you and me now, Freddie," he breathed softly, tears beginning to spill over his cheeks.

XxX

Grief. Raw, unadulterated grief was all George felt as he wiped the tears from his face and continued to speak to his brother. He wasn't sure how long he had been there by himself. His body was numb enough that it had probably been a while, but he neither knew nor cared.

"I should have been there," he said in the deepest anguish. "I should have been there with you, right there with you the whole time. This wouldn't have happened. We never got hurt when we were together—did you ever notice that? I lost my ear when you were off with Dad, and when I was off with Lee, you—you…"

But George couldn't finish and collapsed in another fit of tears.

"It's all my fault," he managed. "It's all my fucking fault, and now it's Christmas and you're gone and everyone wants to pretend it's okay, but it's not. Who am I supposed to pull crackers with? And what's Mum going to sew on the front of my sweater this year? No need for a 'G' when the 'F' is missing. My fault. All my fault."

He dug his palms into the hollow of his eyes and tried to regain control of himself.

"I just wish…I just wish I knew you were okay. God, Fred, I can't stand the thought of you dying there in pain. It wasn't the way you were meant to go. We were supposed to go together, remember? Standing up straight—no fear, like our uncles did. Now I've never been more scared in my whole life. Just…just come back, can't you? Just once. Just tonight…please."

He was aware of the futility and the wretchedness of his request, but he couldn't help himself. Hand shaking, he brought out a small package from his overcoat and set it on the ground in front of the grave marker.

"Catherine wheel," he sniffed, pulling out his wand to light it. "The last of our first batch. We were going to keep it as a memento, remember? For when we were famous?"

He muttered the spell and set the wand to the lighter.

"I think it's better this way."

The elaborate firework zoomed up into the air and burst over the English countryside in dazzling silver and electric blue. The ends fizzed and expanded, rolling the Catherine wheel across the sky before it finally faded, ghostly smoke remaining behind.

"Merry Christmas, Fred," George said dully. "I just…wish I knew you were alright."

He stayed a few moments longer, unable to move from exhaustion, eking out the remainder of his tears. And then, just at the moment he felt ready to collapse on the ground, a boom in the air above him whipped his head skyward. A second Catherine wheel had exploded just where the first had ebbed, and the night sky was once again filled with sparkling colors, this time in red and gold. George stared amazed, mouth open, when one of the sparkling ends disappeared over the horizon and lit up the hills beyond.

"Fred?" he called, a little stronger than his voice had been able to manage in the past few days. "Fred?"

George leapt up now and began striding down the opposite side of the hill, away from the Burrow.

"Fred?" he called again loudly. Without hesitating, George descended the hill, disappearing into the vast, frozen moors of the countryside.

XxX

An hour after leaving Fred's gravesite, Katie was sitting on the couch in the Weasleys' sitting room, staring into the fire that was now crackling away on the hearth. The wireless had been switched on, and the room was filled with traditional Christmas carols and other holiday songs. The emotional upheaval of the evening had passed, and the friends and family present were now lounging about pleasantly for the most part, seemingly relieved of some invisible weight that had been pressing on them earlier. Everyone had returned now—everyone except George.

While Charlie and Michael were telling Teddy about the wonders of Father Christmas—rather uselessly, Katie thought, as Teddy couldn't yet speak—and Bill and Fleur held one another in the corner, Katie couldn't be shaken from her post across from the fire place. She stared into the flames, partially unaware of what was going on around her. She was afraid for George, afraid of what might happen to him out there. She had seen the look on his face, and couldn't help but remember how he had been lying prostrate on top of Fred's grave just months earlier, unable to move. And apart from that—rather selfishly—she wished she were the one keeping vigil at the tombstone. She knew that if anyone had that right it was George, but she couldn't help regretting that she hadn't made the trip earlier, on her own. She had so many things she'd wanted to say to Fred beyond the simple "I love you" she'd managed that evening. It sufficed, she supposed, but more than anything she wanted to be alone at the moment. Or alone with Fred, at least. Unaware of what she was doing, she pulled the necklace around her neck out of her sweater and ran her fingers around the engagement band.

While everyone else seemed to accept that the hardest part of the evening was over, Molly Weasley was still flustered. Katie was unable to help overhearing her conversation with her husband as they stood in the corner in front of the famous Weasley clock.

"But look, Arthur," she sobbed, gesturing to George's hand on grandfather clock. "It's says 'mortal peril.' He can't be alright!"

Mr. Weasley soothed his wife and smoothed the hair away from her face. "Molly, you know as well as I do that George's hand has been at 'mortal peril' since…since Fred."

"But—but I'm just so worried about him!"

"I know. I know, but he'll be alright. Everybody will be fine, trust me."

Katie glanced briefly at the clock and looked away. It made her stomach turn.

Come on, Fred, she pleaded once more. Bring him back.

XxX

"Fred!" George called desperately for what felt like the thousandth time. He was really beginning to feel the effects of the cold now; the lower half of his body was completely numb. Still, he trudged through the snow in desperate hopes of finding some other sign of his twin brother.

He was weakly aware that he was lost, although his mind wouldn't allow him to say the word. He knew very well that going out into the moors at night was tantamount to a death sentence—his father had nearly killed him and Fred once when they set off for an "adventure" when they were ten—but he couldn't help himself. That firework hadn't been set off by just anyone. It was Fred answering his call, he was sure of it. Which meant Fred had to be here somewhere.

"Fred, where are you?"

Despite the volume of his yells, George's voice felt thin in the cold air as the sound carried directly upward and evaporated in the night sky. He felt tears both of cold and of frustration prick at his eyes. He had to have been out here searching for at least an hour. Maybe Fred wasn't here, after all.

But why would he send him such a clear signal that he was? Besides, George could feel him. He was in the air somewhere—just a little out of reach.

"FRED!" he shouted for the last time before collapsing onto the ground. He could feel the sharp wind whirl around him and sense the oppressing stillness of the night sky as it bore down on him.

You're going to freeze out here, a small voice inside his head told him. You're going to freeze to death on Christmas Eve, searching for your dead brother.

Maybe it's not such a bad way to go, George morbidly answered his conscience. There's not much left to stay here for anyway. Fred didn't die the way he was supposed to. Why should I?

Fair enough. Give up, then.

Maybe I will.

So do it, then.

…but Fred probably wouldn't be too happy to see me if that's the way I choose to go.

Too late. You're in the middle of a moor, bright one. Let's see you apparate now.

Don't care. I'll make it.

George stood up shakily, attempting to regain his balance, but almost immediately fell back down to the ground. Crying out for help now, rather than fantasy, he shouted one more time.

"FRED!"

The ground and the snow swirling around him, George shielded his eyes and felt himself tumbling, falling through the air. Just at the moment he felt he could no longer stand the tumultuous sensation, he fell with a thud onto his back in a familiar location.

He opened one eye first, then the other. Light flooded into his senses—a warm, glowing light from the Burrow. Gingerly, George sat up and stared in amazement at the misshapen house. His mouth fell open.

"Fred…"

His brother had saved him. It was unbelievable—incredulous, even—but George was sure it was true. And as he stared at the ground beneath him, he had another sign. A beautiful red poinsettia flower—the mark of Christmas—sprouted out from beneath the snow and blossomed in front of him. George looked up and through the window of the Burrow. His family was crowded around the fireplace, some dancing, some embracing. But Katie was seated off by herself, hair hanging in front of her face, not really there. He glanced down at the flower and suddenly knew what it was for.

Feeling warmer inside than he had for months, George scooped it up and approached the house. Now it was time to rescue someone else.

XxX

Just as Mrs. Weasley appeared to be beyond the reach of her husband, George walked through the back door. Katie snapped up from her torpor and stared in wonder at him as he crossed the room with a cautious smile and held out a large, red poinsettia.

"George, what on earth-?"

"Take it," he smiled. "It's from Fred."

Katie felt a rush of shock course through her body as she stared at her friend incredulously, and then dropped her gaze to the flower. It was beautiful and warm and living—not something that could have been conjured from a wand. She took it from him and instantly knew that he was right. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked back up at him, but George was still grinning. He held out his hand.

"Come on, Kay," he said gently. "Let's have a dance, shall we?"

Still astonished, she was unable to do anything other than nod mutely and set the poinsettia down as she slipped her hand into his. It was strangely warm. George pulled her up and close to him as he spun her around a little playfully—out and back in.

"Mum, George is back," Ginny said, getting up from the floor where she sat with Harry. From over the top of George's shoulder, she saw Mrs. Weasley start, her eyes darting across the room for her missing son.

"Where? Where?"

"There," Mr. Weasley said, pointing and smiling. "See? I told you."

He took his wife back in his arms and began swaying with her to the rhythm of the slow music now playing out of the wireless.

"Everybody's fine," he murmured into her ear. "Everybody's fine."

Katie smiled, gazing up at George. He looked down at her and grinned.

"What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I like that," she said quietly. "Everybody's fine."

He nodded, pulling her in tighter.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we will be."

XxX