Alone for the Holidays
A HariPo oneshot
by mew-tsubaki
Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. A different take on post-war feels. -w- Read, review, and enjoy! *Originally done for Forbidden Fruit Fest – Winter 2024 on AO3, tho the fest was cancelled.*
- ^-^3
"Honestly, all that's left is the sweeping—and I could do that with my hands and wand behind my back," Verity said as the day wound down and the last customer had been in and out half an hour ago. But Verity was kind enough not to emphasize the emptiness of the store by letting her eyes rove. Instead, her eyes settled on George behind the till, her smile small but soft. "Really, George. I insist."
George opened his mouth to protest, but a phantom itch by his missing ear had him swatting distractedly by his head. "…fine," he caved. "I s'pose…I could actually take a moment to pack and head out. Be on time for Mum, for once."
The blond witch chuckled.
He closed the till, ignoring how loud it sounded in an absurdly quiet Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and joined his assistant on the floor. "Dunno what we'd do without you, Vee," George said as he pulled her into a friendly, one-armed hug.
Verity returned the affection but ushered him upstairs all the same. "Well, you'll manage Christmas at the Burrow without me, I'm sure."
He made for the stairs, but he glanced over his shoulder and reminded her, "You do know you and your folks are welcome to drop in, yeah? Or just crash things. You have my blessing."
"I'll keep it in mind. Have a good break, George."
George heard the amusement in her tone, but he wasn't even half joking. Though it'd been months since the final battle, and Harry and Hermione dropped by often (or so Ron said when he came to the shop to help out), the Burrow was somewhere he avoided, if possible. Molly and Arthur were damn near inconsolable, Percy had moved back in, Charlie had returned home and stayed for the first two months, and Bill and Fleur popped over every other day.
The only one who never lingered more than an evening, for a birthday celebration or a spot of tea, was George.
"Can't escape a Weasley Christmas, though," he groused quietly upstairs. He flicked his wand, in his and Fred's flat, and rocked back and forth on his feet, watching as clothes folded themselves and small Wheezes slipped between layers, everything packing tightly into his old school trunk, which sat open by the flat door.
"Well, you could. The problem is, the family would send out a search party after everything that's happened," a familiar voice chimed in.
George ignored the voice, even if he agreed with the remark. Best get to practice, tuning it out, before he spent nearly two weeks around those who knew him best and would take note if George were paying attention to voices of those not there.
As the trunk lid settled close with a satisfying thunk, George checked the flat's charms—securely in place, and he knew Verity would take care of the shop as soon as she was done—and took the trunk's handle, tugging it over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, ignored another "itch" by his missing ear, and stepped into the ashes, calling out for the Burrow and vanishing into lurid green flames in the same instant.
Traveling from above the shop to the family home was like going from night to day. No, rather—like Apparating from the library at Hogwarts to the final game of the Quidditch season. The silence of the shop was replaced with everything: faint squeals from the pigs out back, less-faint clucks of the chickens in the coop out front, the increasingly loud chatter of Molly and Fleur talking over one another in the kitchen, Bill and Charlie having a laugh in the living room, Percy and Hermione nattering about Ministry business elsewhere. It was the typical din he'd grown up with, but now it made George wince and cover his good ear for a beat.
His arrival at least interrupted the eldests' chat, but Ginny must've been around the corner, because she was the first to greet George, and she threw her arms around his neck in a giant hug. "Took you long enough!" Ginny scolded with a laugh.
"Eh, you know me—customer satisfaction is my top priority, can't just shove all those with Galleons weighing their pockets down out of the shop now, can I?" he said into her mane of red hair. When he pulled away, George grinned for good measure.
Ginny raised an eyebrow at his expression (no doubt Ron had let slip the slow status of things to her as well as to his best mates), but she let it drop as Bill and Charlie got their hugs in, the latter moving George's trunk aside.
"But I appreciate you saving the best for last," George said as he hung up his cloak and scarf and made his way through the other rooms. Their father was close to nodding off in the armchair by the doorway, so George squeezed Arthur's shoulder in passing before moving on to the kitchen. Percy and Hermione sat at the dinner table, their discussion interspersed with hand gestures at this point, and George caught his sister's eye again.
"Don't mind them. You know these two: Planning Ministry reform from the ground up, all but."
Well, at least Hermione had the decency to look up and wave hello.
"And you're not last," Ginny corrected as she followed him towards the loudest pair. "Ron's dragging Harry from the Auror Office, because you know how much Harry likes making an entrance." Here, she snickered at her boyfriend's expense, and George couldn't help joining in. After seven years knowing Harry, some things never changed.
"Most importantly, how's the loveliest witch in all the land?" George asked as they closed the distance to Molly and Fleur, right as their heated debate hit a natural pause.
Both turned at George's query, but Fleur's cheeks took on a healthy amount of color a beat later when she realized he meant Molly. "Good to see you, George," Fleur managed, tipping her head to him.
Molly preened at the compliment, though, and drew him into one of her giant hugs after he pecked her cheek. "Oh, George. Don't think I didn't notice the hour." She pointed a finger at him and narrowed her eyes.
"Customers!" he spluttered.
"That would explain you still being in uniform," Molly stated with a tut-tut.
George glanced at his amber suit and violet waistcoat and gaped at her. "My shop attire is the nicest stuff I own…!"
"Be that as it may, you're not at the shop, George. You're home, with us." She turned him in the direction of the staircase and gave him a nudge. "Go on, get changed. I left something out for you, and I expect everyone to be wearing theirs for dinner."
"Zat eez, eef we can decide on dinner…," Fleur interrupted.
Molly threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, for Godric's sake! Fleur, luv, I appreciate the assistance, but I told you a hundred times already: For tonight's meal, we have a simple tradition—"
Considering they were raising their voices again, George figured he'd be able to hear them anywhere in the house. However, his mother's comments about his attire gave him a bad feeling about what she wanted him to don. That was why he dragged his feet outside the door to his and Fred's old room.
Ginny's light steps sounded behind him, and she stopped on the staircase when he tuned. "Um… Wanted to give you a head's up about Mum's surprise."
"Bit late for that, Gin."
"And I s'pose it's not much of a surprise."
George frowned. "The usual jumpers, yeah? Even though she tends to save them for Christmas Day."
"Yeah. But things are different this year."
He stifled the dark snort that bubbled up in his chest. "Tell me about it."
Ginny winced. But she looked behind her when Molly and Fleur argued about pastries. "…George, Mum made one for everyone. Fleur, too."
Oh. That—That was different. George swallowed a lump in his throat. "Thanks, Ginny," he said, and then he disappeared inside his room.
After a quiet minute, that ever-familiar voice offered his opinion: "Well, can't say I'm all that surprised, though it does sting a bit, yeah."
George sat up like a bolt from where he'd been lying on Fred's bed and cast a Silencing Charm on their room. "Thought we'd agreed you'd keep a low, quiet profile," George huffed.
Fred's ghost faded into full view, looking as charming and heroic as he had the night he'd died. He smiled softly and raised his eyebrows at his living twin. "Low, sure. Staying your secret has given us time I didn't think we'd have," Fred continued as he drifted close, stopping to hover before George. "But quiet? When have you ever known me to be particularly quiet, Georgie?" He reached out, brushed his misty fingers over George's cheek and past.
George tried not to react to Fred's touch. The first time he'd gotten that phantom "itch" had occurred less than two days after Fred's death, and he'd realized that it was Fred trying to get his attention, adjusting to the afterlife and its limitations and new powers. Good thing the Weasley twins were quick learners.
Fred grinned, amused, and backed off. He floated around the room, doing loop-de-loops around the ceiling and eventually settling parallel above George, who once more reclined. "Back to the issue at hand: Mum's jumpers." His eyes bored holes into George. "We had to expect it at some point, luv. You and Ginny have shared a first initial all her life, anyhow. Everyone's getting older—you'll all be decrepit before you know it—but that very well means ickle ones running around. A few for Bill and Fleur, I imagine. Charlie's married to his work, so no. But Perce has matured at last; some witch might be able to stand him. And you know Ron and Ginny each have been planning their weddings to Hermione and Harry since forever ago." He drifted down to land beside George and rest his chin on the other's shoulder. "Initials and names just get used and reused; that's all there is to it, George," he said quietly.
"I know," George grumbled. "I think… I'm just not ready yet. Feels a bit as though Fleur's stolen something, even though I know that's not the case."
A damp chill caressed his cheek, but Fred's ghostly hand warmed the longer he rested it on George's skin, and George turned his head to face him. How odd. Separated by death and yet not. Tethered to George and not to Hogwarts Castle, able to touch George, to feel almost as Fred still walked the same plane as did his twin…
There was still so little understood about ghosts, and Fred's loss still made his heart ache so. But George often wondered, and Fred did, as well, if their twin bond, if their feelings played a large part in Fred's ghostly magic.
Whichever it was, George felt eternally grateful that they had each other still. Fred and George. Gred and Forge, he thought with a smile, which Fred kissed.
"Really? Now?" George asked, though he loosened his tie.
Fred smirked. "Of course now, Georgie. It'll be at least an hour or so before Mum relents to having help in the kitchen and supper's ready. Your only options before then are to huff more about the 'F' jumper or to be bored. Luckily for you, I am the Ultimate Boredom Solver."
"Yet another posthumous title you've given yourself, I see," George said with a chuckle. His chuckle turned into a laugh as Fred's ghostly grasp on his tie made it slip free as though his twin had Summoned it away.
"It's only disingenuous when I don't live up to them," Fred retorted, waggling his eyebrows. He tried the same trick with the tie on George's belt, but the item fought him. He huffed. "Pants."
And of course George obliged. Couldn't have Fred lose his title now, could they?
- ^-^3
By the time Ron went around (ah, so everyone had arrived) to announce supper was ready, George was spent and feeling lighter than when he'd arrived. He waved his wand to manage the spot of clean-up and rummaged through his trunk, which had been sent upstairs ahead of him.
Fred remained stretched out, hovering above the covers of his old bed, smirking like a well-fed cat. "Nice view," he said.
George rolled his eyes and snorted. "You are such a…," he groaned as he changed into denims and an old Gryffindor jumper. He smoothed the front down and faced his lover. "Thank you for cheering me up, Freddie. But—stay up here, all right?"
Fred whistled.
"Fred."
"No promises."
George sighed and walked back to the bed. He knelt on it, ignored how it sank only under his own weight, and leaned down for another kiss. Fred met him, eager, and put a translucent hand on George's neck. But George held his hand for a moment before backing away. "Promise, and we'll have round two later."
His twin's eyes glittered in response.
Before he could be tempted to continue right then, George exited their room. He took the steps two at a time, gave some thought about what he'd be stumbling into, and decided he'd try to snag a seat between Ginny and Hermione if he could. Good buffers, those two.
And likely the right decision. Harry gave him a brief "hullo," but Ron, Percy, and Charlie all wore matching expressions of horror, that George hadn't put on the new knit. Bill made a face and rubbed his brow; George also thought he heard his big brother grumble, "Dammit," but Molly had everyone sit then, and food and drink assembled in front of them.
Molly and Arthur stood and raised their glasses. "Thank you, all, for coming home," Molly said. She leaned on Arthur, who had his arm wrapped around her. "This year—this first year—it's…well, I don't know if it's the hardest. We don't know what the next year or the year after will bring. But having everyone together now…" A sob caught in her throat, but she smiled through her tears.
"Cheers," Arthur said, and the rest echoed him.
It was an all right open to dinner, George decided, and he avoided Molly's reproving stare while his siblings discussed their recent and upcoming plans. He could listen and laugh where appropriate and otherwise gorge himself on the spread—after all, Molly and Fleur had done a fabulous job working together and lived to tell the tale.
"There's still quite a lot to tackle at the Ministry," Hermione told the table, "but with overtime—"
Percy sighed. "For the umpteenth time, I'm in agreement with Minister Shacklebolt. The most urgent matters were seen to first already, Hermione. Now's the time to work at a steady pace, not burn ourselves out with overtime, getting everything done at once."
Hermione flared her nostrils, but Ron interrupted from her other side. "You've done great work so far, though, especially putting Diagon Alley back in order." A dull thud connected under the table, and Ron shot Bill a look.
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Security's tight, but visitor numbers are trickling back up, even at Gringotts. I might return to my post in Egypt for a time next year, even."
George raised his eyebrows, noting Fleur's frown while their parents dismayed at Bill's departure so soon. He caught Harry's eye above Ginny's head, but the Boy-Who-Won shoveled a spoonful of mashers into his mouth, long since adapted to the ruckus that was the Weasley family dinner table.
"…then time for a family picture," Molly announced.
George snapped his head back to the spat at hand. Come again?
But Molly already had set her napkin beside her plate. "Up, up, all of you. The dinnerware is Charmed to keep everything warm. So before another child of mine zips off to the continent or stares into the face of the next Dark Lord, I want a new family photo."
"But, Mollywobbles—"
"No 'buts,' Arthur." She waved both arms until they acquiesced. That was when she finally zeroed in on her rebel. "And George, put on your jumper."
He bristled. "I've got one on."
"Don't talk back. I asked you before, to change into the new one I made you. Go do it now, for the photo."
George felt it, all the pairs of eyes on him, coming from those who'd conceded. But the indignant part of him—his stubborn Weasley blood, that had him avoiding the Burrow, that had dragged his feet in coming here tonight—rose up. "I'll be in the photo as I am, or I won't be in it at all."
Fire burned bright in Molly's brown eyes; the temper she'd passed on to her children boiled, ready to surface.
But George hadn't come home to be scolded nor scalded. With a "tsk," he left the table and made for the door, nonverbally Summoning his cloak and scarf to him on the way.
Percy caught up to him before George pulled the door shut. "George! Where are you going?"
"For a walk." George's shoulders sank a smidge when he caught the worried pinch of Percy's brow. "Look…take the photo while I'm out. I—I'm just not in a festive mood."
Percy's frown deepened. "George…why aren't you in the holiday spirit?"
For a smart bloke, Percy could say the barmiest things sometimes. But George didn't reply (an early Christmas present, he decided) as he stepped outside.
Several feet away from the house, George felt Fred's otherworldly presence before his twin spoke. "Yeah, Georgie, why aren't you in the holiday spirit? Or…were you expecting the spirit to be in you?"
In spite of his temper flaring, George's pout vanished, replaced by a grin summoned by Fred's crassness. He shook his head, but he waited until they reached his destination up on the hill. Then he sat on Fred's headstone and fixed his twin's ghostly visage with a tired look. "Thought you'd promised to wait upstairs, Freddie."
Fred shrugged. "I never actually promised, luv. Besides," he continued, sitting beside George, "I wanted to keep an eye on you. Thought I got it through that thick skull of yours that the jumpers aren't a big deal."
George twiddled his thumbs in his lap.
"Georgie. George." He floated to stand in front of his twin and pressed a chilly-but-warming kiss to George's forehead in the chillier December air. "…we may be twins, but we aren't genuine mind-readers. Tell me what's got you buggered, George."
George sighed. He stared up at Fred's ghost. Sometimes, in low light places like this, it was easy to forget he was a ghost and not just another person whose silhouette the Moon outlined.
But then Fred would rest his hand atop George's, and George would see his hand too well through Fred's, and reality would screech at him like a banshee.
"…there wasn't even a place for you at the table, Fred."
Fred shrugged again. "Doesn't bother me. Mum and Dad left a spot the first few weeks."
"No one's mentioned you at all."
Fred heaved a dramatic sigh. "Luv, I think it's partly for them and partly for you. It's your first Christmas without me. You'll face a new year without me next—don't look now."
George shot him a look.
"C'mon. Why'd you really snap?"
"…first…"
Fred leaned in closed, as if to rest his forehead against George's. "Hmm?"
"It would be the first photo I've taken without you." George dropped his eyes to the snow, to the blanket of white covering the packed dirt which, six feet below, encased a casket they'd purchased a hundred years too early.
"Ah. That." Fred straightened up and hummed low in his throat. "…yeah, can't say I wouldn't bite Mum's head off in your shoes."
George looked up at him. "That's why the jumpers bugger me, Fred. Matching, you and me, a set—bad enough I lost my damned ear in the war. But trying to take that photo, as if everything else is back to normal and peaceful…!"
"Well, no. Just listening to Perce and Hermione go at it…" Fred cleared his throat when George frowned anew, and he sat back down beside him. "Look, all I'm saying is: I understand. It's all right to be upset, George. But also…it's all right to take those photos, one day, when you're ready."
George stared at him. "You're not giving me some crummy 'move on without me' speech, are you?"
Fred laughed and kissed the doubt away, lingering long enough for that frown to change to a shaky pout and then to a satisfied but shy smile. "'Course not. You're mine, forever and ever. Twin bond and all that and more, luv."
George shook his head and gingerly touched the headstone. "Fred and George."
"Gred and Forge," Fred agreed, resting his cheek on George's shoulder and sinking his lukewarm fingers into George's hand, awkwardly interlacing their fingers as best a newbie ghost still learning his tactile limits could.
They sat together awhile, until the temperature dropped and fresh snow began to fall. George tightened his scarf around him. "S'pose I've to face the music sooner or later."
Fred stood with him. "True. But if you choose to head back to the flat, if you can't stand it here, I understand."
George raised his eyebrows. "Really? I thought you would tell me not to be like Percy."
"Well, of course don't be a prat like him and cut off communication. But a pause from our family? Can't blame you." Fred hovered close. "However…"
"'However'?"
"You're not alone here, Georgie. Still got a lot of the break ahead of us, so I say we continue to make the most of my being a ghost."
George laughed, and this time he felt his lighter mood would stay, even when Molly opened the door to let him in. After all, his vanished ear itched in response to Fred's invisible, comforting touch. He would face the holiday head-on, but he wouldn't be doing it alone.
- ^-^3
Also done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #137: the ultimate boredom solver) in the HPFC forum on FFN, this was surprisingly my first time writing the classic twincest ship! X'D Kinda funny when you consider all the other "weird" ships I've written over the decades. ;P But dwelling on the fest prompt (#22: home for the holidays), this premise felt right for George and Fred, as well as a Weasley family still a bit raw/delicate in the aftermath of the war. Now, would Fred's ghost ever cave and ask George to let the rest of the family know about his presence? Idk! This is just a self-contained oneshot, but it's fun to think about ghost!Fred for lotsa reasons. I love the Weasleys a lot, so this was fun to write!
Thanks for reading, and please review! Available to reblog on my fic tumblr and fic pillowfort, too~
-mew-tsubaki :'3