FIC: Christmas Without Him [George]
Dec. 19th, 2012 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mini_fest_mod posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mini_festTitle: Christmas Without Him
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
writcraft
Characters: George Weasley centric, portrait!Fred, Weasley family and related canon pairings, Harry/Draco
Prompt: #66 – Christmas without Fred
Word Count: ~2,400
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): * Major Character Death (Fred Weasley), Grieving, Loss*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury /Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I’m sorry this is a somewhat sad little ficlet. Thank you to V for the beta and cheerleading and to the mods for their patience.
Summary: George struggles during his first Christmas without Fred.
The air in the small flat above the shop was stagnant with overheating and the stale smell of takeaway food which had been left unattended for too long. Bottles of beer in greens and browns lined the small table situated in front of a Muggle television, with copies of the Prophet showing a grinning Harry Potter throwing snowballs at Draco Malfoy outside the Ministry.
George looked at the bottles and the empty pizza boxes and frowned, wondering if Harry would convince his git of a boyfriend to let George borrow one of the house elves to clean the place up a little bit. He knew he could do it himself but magic wasn’t as easy as it had been at one time and he could hardly ask his mum round to tidy up after him.
At nights it was always the worst. It was when the pop-crackle-fizz of the sweets in the store and the sound of children laughing with delight disappeared that the silence seemed the loudest, intermingled only with the odd sound of somebody yelling when the pubs called last orders.
He took his wand from his robes and cast a lacklustre cleaning spell in the direction of the bottles. They shook on the table as his wand let out a strange sort of hiss, and two of the bottles shattered into small pieces. George crouched down and picked up the shards of the broken bottles. He clenched his hand slowly around the thick glass and then opened it again, watching in fascination as scarlet red droplets fell onto the somewhat dingy carpet, gathering in a pool. Funny, how he hadn’t felt a thing.
“What the heck are you doing, Georgie? It’s no good for you, sitting here in the dark. Is there snow-”
“-Outside? Yeah, there’s snow. Not much fun having snowball fights by yourself though, Freddie.” George looked up at the portrait of his brother. “Wish I could take you with me.”
“Wish I could come back to the Burrow with you to see mum.” Fred frowned and shrugged. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Right pair-”
“-We’d make together,” George agreed. He stood and dropped the glass onto the table, pressing his healthy hand against the portrait where Fred placed his own up against it. He looked up at Fred and felt the tears prick the back of his eyes, burning and hot as he focused on his twin, feeling cold, rough oils under his hand. “A right pair indeed.”
“Stop moping you great pillock and go and have a good Christmas. Tell mum and dad I love them.” Fred grinned at George and leaned forward in his portrait while George strained to feel hot breath against his good ear, but there was nothing. “Tell Bill he’s lucky I’m not around because I’m pretty sure that bird of his had her eye on me, all along.”
“I’m sure she did.” George choked through his laughter and raised his eyebrow. “And Charlie?”
Fred pondered that for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Tell Charlie that his dragon hide trousers are looking a bit tight this year and perhaps he should lay off the pigs in blankets, and be sure to hex Ginny’s new bloke for me.”
“Sure.” George looked down at his hand, streaked with blood from the broken glass. “Not going to be Christmas without you, Freddie.”
“Course it will.” Fred snorted and gestured to the door. “Go on, then – you’d better be off. Clean your hand up before you Floo though, or mum will have-”
“-My guts for garters, I know.”
“Merry Christmas, Georgie.”
George looked up at Fred and tried to smile. “And a Happy New Year.”
OooooOOooooO
“What in the name of Merlin is that ferret doing here?” Ron glared at Harry and jabbed his finger at a very smug looking Draco Malfoy, who sidled close to Harry and arched an eyebrow at Ron as he looked him up and down and let out a disdainful sniff.
“Harry invited me.”
“I can bloody well see that!” Ron rounded on Harry who held his hands up in a gesture of defence. “The question is, why?”
“Because he’s Harry’s boyfriend and really not all that bad when you get to know him. We’ve been through this, Ron.” Hermione placed a soothing hand on Ron’s arm and rolled her eyes at Harry, who shrugged and wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s waist.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to him, mate – even if he is a complete prat it seems I like that in a bloke.” Harry grinned as Malfoy huffed and glared at him. George watched Harry murmur something to Malfoy which caused a light flush to rise in his cheeks, as he cleared his throat and pressed himself closer to Harry.
“Now, now, boys – no fighting – any friend of Harry’s is a friend of ours.” George watched as his mum ushered Ron into the dining room, casting a quick look back at George, her face worried. “You look dreadful, George – like you haven’t eaten for weeks – why don’t you spend some time with us here? Close the shop for a week or two, the Wizarding world can do without pranks and tricks for the first couple of weeks of the New Year, I’m sure.”
“Can’t.” George shook his head as he followed his mother into the dining room and took a seat at the table which was laden with delicious looking food. “Now it’s just me I really need to be there as much as I can.”
“I’m happy to help, you know?” Harry looked up from his plate and gave George a smile. “I don’t have to be a silent partner anymore if you fancy having some company – I wouldn’t mind helping out before I start Auror training next year. I need something to do with my time off, I’m going a bit stir crazy.”
“Clearly.” Ron gave Malfoy a pointed glance and Harry snorted, shaking his head at Ron.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Why the bloody hell am I here, Potter? I told you this was a terrible idea!”
George listened to Harry and Malfoy bicker in that way that couples sometimes did, while Ron looked on with some satisfaction, groaning out loud when the bickering turned to heated threats shortly followed by even more heated snogging.
“Put him down, Harry.” Charlie winked at Harry across the table and Harry pulled back from a dishevelled, somewhat happy looking Malfoy and gave the rest of the table a sheepish grin before he tucked back into his food.
“It’s good – thanks, Mum.” Bill clapped his mum on the shoulder and gestured at the table. “You’ve done yourself proud.”
George moved his turkey around on his plate. It all tasted like sawdust to him – too dry, impossible to eat properly. He found himself trying to swallow around large mouthfuls of food as he felt them catch in his throat. Pigs in blankets – he hated those. Every year Fred would grab George’s plate and move the pigs in blankets onto his own plate, swapping them for his chestnut stuffing.
“I know you’re not going to eat those and I get first dibs because I’m your favourite.”
George pushed his plate away, mostly untouched. He looked around the table and took in the easy flow of chatter around him, unable to stop his gaze falling to the place where Fred used to be. He clenched his hand and kept silent until the meal finished and Ron announced it was time for games in the living room.
“I might take a short nap – I feel rather worn out this Christmas.”
George looked up at his mum with some surprise and noticed – really noticed – for the first time since he had come home, how her eyes were lined a little and her hair was speckled with grey-white strands. She bent to his dad and kissed his cheek as George noticed the silent squeeze of their hands – the unspoken communication between them. With a last glance back at his mum, he followed Ron and the others into the sitting room where his ‘G’ jumper was folded in a messy pile of wool.
There was no need for that this year. It reminded him too fiercely of the prior Christmas, of wearing the jumper with the haphazardly knitted ‘F’ on the front as he winked at his twin.
“I miss you.”
“What was that, mate?”
George looked up to see Charlie watching him and shrugged, standing to his feet. “Nothing. Too much turkey. I’m just going for a walk.”
“Want company?”
“Not particularly, but thanks.” George shook his head and grabbed his coat off the peg which was overflowing with scarves and thick jackets. He shrugged on the coat and opened the door, listening to the voices outside which murmured to one another in the darkness.
“Are you alright?” George could make out two forms, huddled together on the steps, their heads bowed, one light and shining in the moonlight, the other dark and messy. He recognised Harry’s voice and stepped back into the shadows a little.
“I’m not sure they like me very much.” Malfoy’s voice was hesitant and clipped, but George could hear the note of disappointment beneath the cool tone.
“You’ll grow on them. I didn’t like you much either, at first.” George could hear the smile in Harry’s voice, a fond, amused sort of sound. He watched Harry pull Malfoy closer. “Besides, it’s a funny sort of Christmas for everyone this year.”
“I know.” Malfoy paused as if he had something else to say and George kept silent, quietly observing the two men. “I know you hated him but I miss him. My father, I mean. I imagine there isn’t much cause for celebration in Azkaban.”
“I imagine not.” Harry tipped Malfoy’s head back and looked at him searchingly. “I’ll come with you, if you want – to visit him.”
“You would?” George thought Malfoy’s voice sounded impossibly small and his heart ached at the sound of it. He hated Lucius Malfoy but even a bastard like that had family and for them, Christmas would always be the hardest time – just as it was for George.
“I would.” Harry leaned forward and captured Malfoy’s lips for a moment and George heard the words, murmured into the clear night. “I love you.”
The response was a soft sound and George watched Malfoy wrap himself around Harry as they lost themselves in kisses and the cool night air. With a sigh and an ache of loneliness he moved from the shadows, silently walking to a safe space which he Apparated from, straight to his flat.
George pushed open the door to the shop, noticing with a frown that it seemed to be unlocked. He moved up the stairs, quite sure nothing had been disturbed. The door was ajar and he could hear Freddie clearly through the small crack once he reached the top of the stairs.
“I wish you would stop being sad. Georgie too. He’s going to be angry, you know. He had started to like the place messy, I reckon.”
George stepped into the door and saw his mum, wiping down the top and using her wand to clean the small room as tears wound down her cheeks. His heart constricted and he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his chin on her shoulder. “Alright there?”
“My boy.” His mum turned and smiled at George through her tears, cupping his cheek with her hand and looking at him and then at the portrait of Fred who appeared to be tipsy, tipping a glass of brandy at George. “My boys.”
“I thought no one…remembered.” George tried to speak around the lump in his throat and breathed in the light, comfortable scent of his mother which reminded him of warmth and childhood.
“I carried you both for nine months. I loved you both for twenty years. I raised you and I would have thrown myself in front of that spell just to let him live if I could.” George watched as his mum wiped her eyes and then tutted at him with a soft laugh. “Not remember, indeed. Silly boy.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” George trailed off and looked at the portrait to see Fred had collapsed into an armchair and had started snoring, the brandy glass dangling from his hand.
“You’ve had a lot on your mind.” His mum waved a dismissive hand and then looked around the place which was sparkling clean, her eyes moving back to George after a long moment. “But enough is enough. I have already lost one of my boys – one of my beautiful, precious, boys. I will not lose another.”
George nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around his mum, hugging her hard enough to hurt. “I understand.” He heard his own voice, thick with emotion and held his mum like that for a long time. Eventually he pulled back and held his hand to her. “Home, then?”
“Yes. Home.” His mum smiled at him and cast one last look back at the portrait as she moved out of the tiny flat. George went to follow her before he spotted a flash of green on the sofa – a pile of wool with an orange ‘F’ knitted by shaking hands. He moved to the jumper and ran his fingers over it, and looked up when he heard a rustle from the portrait.
“You’d better go, Georgie – mum’s-”
“-Waiting, I know.” George smiled and left the jumper in its place as he moved to the door. With one last look back, his eyes met Fred’s in the painting and he forced another smile onto his face. “Merry Christmas.”
Fred gestured to the door, waving George away and gave him a matching grin, identical in every way.
“And a Happy New Year.”
~Fin~
Author:
writcraftCharacters: George Weasley centric, portrait!Fred, Weasley family and related canon pairings, Harry/Draco
Prompt: #66 – Christmas without Fred
Word Count: ~2,400
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): * Major Character Death (Fred Weasley), Grieving, Loss*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury /Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I’m sorry this is a somewhat sad little ficlet. Thank you to V for the beta and cheerleading and to the mods for their patience.
Summary: George struggles during his first Christmas without Fred.
The air in the small flat above the shop was stagnant with overheating and the stale smell of takeaway food which had been left unattended for too long. Bottles of beer in greens and browns lined the small table situated in front of a Muggle television, with copies of the Prophet showing a grinning Harry Potter throwing snowballs at Draco Malfoy outside the Ministry.
George looked at the bottles and the empty pizza boxes and frowned, wondering if Harry would convince his git of a boyfriend to let George borrow one of the house elves to clean the place up a little bit. He knew he could do it himself but magic wasn’t as easy as it had been at one time and he could hardly ask his mum round to tidy up after him.
At nights it was always the worst. It was when the pop-crackle-fizz of the sweets in the store and the sound of children laughing with delight disappeared that the silence seemed the loudest, intermingled only with the odd sound of somebody yelling when the pubs called last orders.
He took his wand from his robes and cast a lacklustre cleaning spell in the direction of the bottles. They shook on the table as his wand let out a strange sort of hiss, and two of the bottles shattered into small pieces. George crouched down and picked up the shards of the broken bottles. He clenched his hand slowly around the thick glass and then opened it again, watching in fascination as scarlet red droplets fell onto the somewhat dingy carpet, gathering in a pool. Funny, how he hadn’t felt a thing.
“What the heck are you doing, Georgie? It’s no good for you, sitting here in the dark. Is there snow-”
“-Outside? Yeah, there’s snow. Not much fun having snowball fights by yourself though, Freddie.” George looked up at the portrait of his brother. “Wish I could take you with me.”
“Wish I could come back to the Burrow with you to see mum.” Fred frowned and shrugged. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Right pair-”
“-We’d make together,” George agreed. He stood and dropped the glass onto the table, pressing his healthy hand against the portrait where Fred placed his own up against it. He looked up at Fred and felt the tears prick the back of his eyes, burning and hot as he focused on his twin, feeling cold, rough oils under his hand. “A right pair indeed.”
“Stop moping you great pillock and go and have a good Christmas. Tell mum and dad I love them.” Fred grinned at George and leaned forward in his portrait while George strained to feel hot breath against his good ear, but there was nothing. “Tell Bill he’s lucky I’m not around because I’m pretty sure that bird of his had her eye on me, all along.”
“I’m sure she did.” George choked through his laughter and raised his eyebrow. “And Charlie?”
Fred pondered that for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Tell Charlie that his dragon hide trousers are looking a bit tight this year and perhaps he should lay off the pigs in blankets, and be sure to hex Ginny’s new bloke for me.”
“Sure.” George looked down at his hand, streaked with blood from the broken glass. “Not going to be Christmas without you, Freddie.”
“Course it will.” Fred snorted and gestured to the door. “Go on, then – you’d better be off. Clean your hand up before you Floo though, or mum will have-”
“-My guts for garters, I know.”
“Merry Christmas, Georgie.”
George looked up at Fred and tried to smile. “And a Happy New Year.”
“What in the name of Merlin is that ferret doing here?” Ron glared at Harry and jabbed his finger at a very smug looking Draco Malfoy, who sidled close to Harry and arched an eyebrow at Ron as he looked him up and down and let out a disdainful sniff.
“Harry invited me.”
“I can bloody well see that!” Ron rounded on Harry who held his hands up in a gesture of defence. “The question is, why?”
“Because he’s Harry’s boyfriend and really not all that bad when you get to know him. We’ve been through this, Ron.” Hermione placed a soothing hand on Ron’s arm and rolled her eyes at Harry, who shrugged and wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s waist.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to him, mate – even if he is a complete prat it seems I like that in a bloke.” Harry grinned as Malfoy huffed and glared at him. George watched Harry murmur something to Malfoy which caused a light flush to rise in his cheeks, as he cleared his throat and pressed himself closer to Harry.
“Now, now, boys – no fighting – any friend of Harry’s is a friend of ours.” George watched as his mum ushered Ron into the dining room, casting a quick look back at George, her face worried. “You look dreadful, George – like you haven’t eaten for weeks – why don’t you spend some time with us here? Close the shop for a week or two, the Wizarding world can do without pranks and tricks for the first couple of weeks of the New Year, I’m sure.”
“Can’t.” George shook his head as he followed his mother into the dining room and took a seat at the table which was laden with delicious looking food. “Now it’s just me I really need to be there as much as I can.”
“I’m happy to help, you know?” Harry looked up from his plate and gave George a smile. “I don’t have to be a silent partner anymore if you fancy having some company – I wouldn’t mind helping out before I start Auror training next year. I need something to do with my time off, I’m going a bit stir crazy.”
“Clearly.” Ron gave Malfoy a pointed glance and Harry snorted, shaking his head at Ron.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Why the bloody hell am I here, Potter? I told you this was a terrible idea!”
George listened to Harry and Malfoy bicker in that way that couples sometimes did, while Ron looked on with some satisfaction, groaning out loud when the bickering turned to heated threats shortly followed by even more heated snogging.
“Put him down, Harry.” Charlie winked at Harry across the table and Harry pulled back from a dishevelled, somewhat happy looking Malfoy and gave the rest of the table a sheepish grin before he tucked back into his food.
“It’s good – thanks, Mum.” Bill clapped his mum on the shoulder and gestured at the table. “You’ve done yourself proud.”
George moved his turkey around on his plate. It all tasted like sawdust to him – too dry, impossible to eat properly. He found himself trying to swallow around large mouthfuls of food as he felt them catch in his throat. Pigs in blankets – he hated those. Every year Fred would grab George’s plate and move the pigs in blankets onto his own plate, swapping them for his chestnut stuffing.
“I know you’re not going to eat those and I get first dibs because I’m your favourite.”
George pushed his plate away, mostly untouched. He looked around the table and took in the easy flow of chatter around him, unable to stop his gaze falling to the place where Fred used to be. He clenched his hand and kept silent until the meal finished and Ron announced it was time for games in the living room.
“I might take a short nap – I feel rather worn out this Christmas.”
George looked up at his mum with some surprise and noticed – really noticed – for the first time since he had come home, how her eyes were lined a little and her hair was speckled with grey-white strands. She bent to his dad and kissed his cheek as George noticed the silent squeeze of their hands – the unspoken communication between them. With a last glance back at his mum, he followed Ron and the others into the sitting room where his ‘G’ jumper was folded in a messy pile of wool.
There was no need for that this year. It reminded him too fiercely of the prior Christmas, of wearing the jumper with the haphazardly knitted ‘F’ on the front as he winked at his twin.
“I miss you.”
“What was that, mate?”
George looked up to see Charlie watching him and shrugged, standing to his feet. “Nothing. Too much turkey. I’m just going for a walk.”
“Want company?”
“Not particularly, but thanks.” George shook his head and grabbed his coat off the peg which was overflowing with scarves and thick jackets. He shrugged on the coat and opened the door, listening to the voices outside which murmured to one another in the darkness.
“Are you alright?” George could make out two forms, huddled together on the steps, their heads bowed, one light and shining in the moonlight, the other dark and messy. He recognised Harry’s voice and stepped back into the shadows a little.
“I’m not sure they like me very much.” Malfoy’s voice was hesitant and clipped, but George could hear the note of disappointment beneath the cool tone.
“You’ll grow on them. I didn’t like you much either, at first.” George could hear the smile in Harry’s voice, a fond, amused sort of sound. He watched Harry pull Malfoy closer. “Besides, it’s a funny sort of Christmas for everyone this year.”
“I know.” Malfoy paused as if he had something else to say and George kept silent, quietly observing the two men. “I know you hated him but I miss him. My father, I mean. I imagine there isn’t much cause for celebration in Azkaban.”
“I imagine not.” Harry tipped Malfoy’s head back and looked at him searchingly. “I’ll come with you, if you want – to visit him.”
“You would?” George thought Malfoy’s voice sounded impossibly small and his heart ached at the sound of it. He hated Lucius Malfoy but even a bastard like that had family and for them, Christmas would always be the hardest time – just as it was for George.
“I would.” Harry leaned forward and captured Malfoy’s lips for a moment and George heard the words, murmured into the clear night. “I love you.”
The response was a soft sound and George watched Malfoy wrap himself around Harry as they lost themselves in kisses and the cool night air. With a sigh and an ache of loneliness he moved from the shadows, silently walking to a safe space which he Apparated from, straight to his flat.
George pushed open the door to the shop, noticing with a frown that it seemed to be unlocked. He moved up the stairs, quite sure nothing had been disturbed. The door was ajar and he could hear Freddie clearly through the small crack once he reached the top of the stairs.
“I wish you would stop being sad. Georgie too. He’s going to be angry, you know. He had started to like the place messy, I reckon.”
George stepped into the door and saw his mum, wiping down the top and using her wand to clean the small room as tears wound down her cheeks. His heart constricted and he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his chin on her shoulder. “Alright there?”
“My boy.” His mum turned and smiled at George through her tears, cupping his cheek with her hand and looking at him and then at the portrait of Fred who appeared to be tipsy, tipping a glass of brandy at George. “My boys.”
“I thought no one…remembered.” George tried to speak around the lump in his throat and breathed in the light, comfortable scent of his mother which reminded him of warmth and childhood.
“I carried you both for nine months. I loved you both for twenty years. I raised you and I would have thrown myself in front of that spell just to let him live if I could.” George watched as his mum wiped her eyes and then tutted at him with a soft laugh. “Not remember, indeed. Silly boy.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” George trailed off and looked at the portrait to see Fred had collapsed into an armchair and had started snoring, the brandy glass dangling from his hand.
“You’ve had a lot on your mind.” His mum waved a dismissive hand and then looked around the place which was sparkling clean, her eyes moving back to George after a long moment. “But enough is enough. I have already lost one of my boys – one of my beautiful, precious, boys. I will not lose another.”
George nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around his mum, hugging her hard enough to hurt. “I understand.” He heard his own voice, thick with emotion and held his mum like that for a long time. Eventually he pulled back and held his hand to her. “Home, then?”
“Yes. Home.” His mum smiled at him and cast one last look back at the portrait as she moved out of the tiny flat. George went to follow her before he spotted a flash of green on the sofa – a pile of wool with an orange ‘F’ knitted by shaking hands. He moved to the jumper and ran his fingers over it, and looked up when he heard a rustle from the portrait.
“You’d better go, Georgie – mum’s-”
“-Waiting, I know.” George smiled and left the jumper in its place as he moved to the door. With one last look back, his eyes met Fred’s in the painting and he forced another smile onto his face. “Merry Christmas.”
Fred gestured to the door, waving George away and gave him a matching grin, identical in every way.
“And a Happy New Year.”
~Fin~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-19 06:32 pm (UTC)I cannot cry at work, dammit! *blinks rapidly*
This was lovely, though. Molly just about broke me when she was cleaning George's flat, tears streaming down her face. I was FINE up until then. Gah!
Harry and Draco were sweet as well. *cuddles everyone, even Ron, who was a pillock*
Nice job!
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-19 06:59 pm (UTC)George's grief and that of the rest of his family is very touching, and I really loved the lesson he learned by eavesdropping on Harry and Draco, witnessing Draco's insecurity and grief and Harry's strength and love. Really lovely.
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Date: 2012-12-22 07:57 pm (UTC)Nice to see that Fred's sense of humor hasn't altered :) But oh, poor George, my heart just aches for him. And for Draco, too -- the overheard conversation between him and Harry was so painful, yet so heartwarming because of Harry's desire to be there for him, help him.
This is sad, but it's also hopeful because it's about people taking the first steps towards moving on -- not by forgetting those who are gone (you never forget), but by remembering that the living need love, and have to love to give, as well.
So yes, bittersweet, but more sweet than bitter. Thank you for a lovely tale well told.
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