If not for the set in her dad's shoulders, the almost-constant frown on her mum's face and the clock hands all pointing towards mortal peril, it could have almost been a regular Christmas holiday. Packages began to appear underneath the Christmas tree and her brothers trickled in one after another.
Fred and George were first and while they disappeared off to their store each day – 'It's a madhouse Ginny, we're selling even faster than at Hogwarts under Umbridge's tenure' – they always found time to give her a tight hug or leave her yelling at them for one prank of the other. After Ron's death, they'd turned sombre for three days and then had thrown themselves into their work with even more of a mad fervour than before. Perhaps their jokes weren't quite as whimsical or from the heart as before, but they tried.
Percy was the next to arrive, after two nights reputedly spent sleeping at his desk. Perhaps Scrimgeour was truly such a taskmaster, or perhaps her most stubborn brother was still not quite sure where he fit back in with the family. It made her wonder if he would ever have found his way back if not for what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. And though he tried hard to be a better brother, she often caught a guilty grimace on his face when he thought no one was looking. It made her want to hug him each time he entered a room.
Next to arrive were Bill and Fleur, looking harried, exhausted and madly in love. From what she'd gathered, they were doing after hours' work at Gringotts at Dumbledore's request. Bill claimed they were trying to iron out an alliance with the Goblins, but with how freely he volunteered that information, it made her doubt that he was being sincere. Bill and Fleur looked like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. It made her wonder if they'd also heard the word 'Horcrux' uttered before. Every evening when they sat down at the table, arriving almost as late as Percy, she felt the urge to ask. And every evening, the memory of Dumbledore's piercing gaze stopped her.
Charlie only arrived on Christmas Eve, with more recently acquired scars than even dragons could explain away. But unlike the rest, he seemed more alive than ever. If her other brothers were struggling through the war, Charlie had come alive during it. Not that he enjoyed it - that would be doing him a disservice - but it did feel like he'd finally found a cause worth fighting for. And if his particular dial seemed to point even more at mortal peril than the rest, he took it in stride.
Christmas itself was an odd, at times muted affair. After months of fear, of worrying about those not present, they were finally all in one room, finally certain that they were all safe. Yet at the same time, it was impossible not to think of Ron, who had loved Christmas more than anyone else in the family. Sometimes, his absence was so tangible in the room, Ginny felt like she'd choke on the air itself.
Still, no one spoke of it. As if everything was alright. As if everything was like before.
They sang Christmas Carols, making fun of Celestina Warbeck whenever her mum wasn't looking. They walked around the Burrow, admiring the beautiful, unblemished snow tapestry and then turned it into a battlefield as they started tossing snowballs at one another. They returned back inside, dripping snow wherever they went and chilled to the bone, at least until they all had a mug of tea.
They unwrapped gifts and laughed when the twins gave Percy a pillow to put on his desk. They laughed even louder when Percy gave them a 'closed' sign and told them they clearly needed one. When they all put their Weasley sweaters on, it felt so comfortingly familiar and normal. And if her dad briefly hesitated when distributing the packages, as if his hands couldn't figure out why he was holding one package too little, nobody mentioned it.
And finally, they sat down for dinner. Her mum's eyes briefly glazed over as she stared at the table, chairs neatly rearranged to make it seem there had never been one more. Or maybe two. With how often Harry had joined them for Christmas, Ginny felt his absence just as strongly as she felt Ron's. Her brother had loved Christmas, Harry had loved everything that came with it. Judging by her mum's expression, she wasn't the only one who missed him.
It made her want to stand up and scream that nothing was like before. Instead she extended her plate for another helping and asked Charlie how Norberta was doing. Because maybe it couldn't hurt to pretend that there was no war, there were no lost children, just for one day. And if at the end of the day she hid under her blankets and cried until she had no more tears left to shed, well, maybe that was how it was supposed to be.
Only, as she lay there, crying and trying to muffle her screams, someone knocked.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice already betraying her with that one quivering syllable.
"Can I come in, sweetheart?" her mum asked. It was tempting to say no, to hide just a little bit deeper under the covers. But then she remembered how her mum had looked at the table and realised that maybe, even pretending for one day that everything was just fine, was too much.
"Yeah, all right," she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. At least her mum didn't look surprised.
"I miss them too, Ginny," she said, sitting down on the bed next to her and extending one hand, reaching for her daughter's. Ginny clasped it tightly. "I miss them all the time, but today even more. It doesn't feel the same without Ron and Harry here, does it?"
"No. No, it doesn't," Ginny admitted. "Sometimes, I manage to forget about a second. When we're all waiting for dad to open the package with the lawnmower. And then I remember and I just feel so guilty for… for forgetting them, even for a second."
"Ginny, don't feel guilty, please," her mum protested, sounding horrified. "I was grateful we could celebrate Christmas together today. But that doesn't mean we can't be sad too. Because they should have been here today as well. And there's no need to feel guilty about any of that."
"I suppose." Ginny said, not quite convinced. She took a deep breath. "I just don't know if I'll ever be truly happy again without them."
Her mum squeezed her hand just a bit tighter.
"When I lost my brothers," she began and cleared her throat. Ginny instinctively held her breath. She never talked about them. "When I lost Gideon and Fabian, the first Christmas was awful. They were a bit like your brothers Fred and George. Always the heart of the party, always loud. And the next Christmas, the war had just ended, there was just this hole where they'd been. A hole that seemed to grow bigger and bigger until there was nothing left to celebrate.
"Halfway the day, I just couldn't take it anymore. I ran to my room and screamed. Screamed until I lost my voice. And then you began crying next door. You were so small still," her mum said, gently stroking Ginny's cheek. "So I picked you up and walked around with you, talking and singing to you until you stopped crying. And holding you felt so good, so right. This little bundle of you. And then I thought of Fabian and Gideon again and felt guilty. Because how could I be happy while they were dead? But then I looked at you again," her mum said, wiping her eyes. "And I just felt so grateful. My beautiful daughter.
"We've lost them and that will never be quite alright. We'll always miss them. But that doesn't mean we can't learn to be happy again, one day at a time. This Christmas might still be too soon for you. It's too soon for me for sure. But one day, we'll get there. Together," her mum said.
"Yeah," Ginny mumbled.
"If you want, we can visit the cemetery tomorrow?" she said, giving her hand another squeeze.
"I'd like that."
There was so much more she wanted to say, but couldn't find the words for. So instead she hugged her mum and cried.