You Found Me

There were no hand-knitted sweaters on Christmas morning. George and I received socks and a few bottles of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover, instead. Mr. Weasley sat in his armchair and looked rather apologetic when George glanced up at him in confusion, bottle of potion in hand, but didn't say anything. I made sure to thank both he and Molly profusely, even though I probably would never wear the socks (they were grey, lumpy, and made of horribly scratchy wool), and the Mrs. Scower's would probably end up stowed in the back of a cupboard somewhere back home, gathering dust and gradually congealing in the bottom of its garish pink bottle.

I supposed we did a little better than Ron did, though, when it came down to who got better presents. He got a rat cage – which merited another sadly apologetic look from his father, probably because five years earlier, we'd discovered that Ron's old rat, Scabbers, had really been a murderer by the name of Peter Pettigrew in disguise – and a pair of girls' Quidditch keeper's gloves. It was difficult to wait to give him the gifts George and I had gotten him (we'd decided we'd do it in secret so that their mother wouldn’t feel outdone), but I gave him a reassuring smile and a small wink. He stifled a laugh and pretended to be enthralled in his useless rat cage.

After giving our presents to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley (several books about muggle artifacts and a new glass case in which to keep his spark plugs for the former, a new hat and scarf set and an updated wireless for the latter), we and the other members of the younger generation slipped out to the orchard again, holding wrapped gifts for each other behind our backs.

"Ginny," Ron said, reclining in the grass with his back against a tree, "D'you want these?" He took the keeper's gloves out of his pocket and waved them in her direction.

"Ron, really..." Hermione said in a chastising tone.

"No. But if you're not going to use that rat cage, it might make a nice bookshelf." Ginny replied with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Harry, George, and I snorted with laughter. Hermione looked cross.

"I think Mum's gone mental." Ron said sadly, looking toward the house.

"It's just for Christmas." George said. "She's been fine up until now, really. Maybe a bit more serious, but never completely mental."

"I hope you're right. I can't imagine what my birthday's going to be like. Bloody hell. A rat cage." He trailed off and shook his head. Everyone laughed again, even Hermione.

"Well, I hope you like this better." I said, sorting through the pile of presents that George and I had smuggled out of the house with the help of an undetectable extension charm, a picnic basket, and the front of my sweater. I handed him two packages, one bulky and square, the other long and completely flat.

"Happy Christmas." George said.

Ron opened the larger gift first, and the befuddlement was obvious on his face when he lifted a pair of omnioculars out of the box I'd wrapped them in. He offered a polite thank-you, but obviously thought George and I had gone mad, too, the git. He reached for the next gift and slit the gold paper open with his thumb.

"No way!" He said, his eyes nearly popping from his skull. "No bloody way! Where did you - ? How did you - ?" He held the tickets to the upcoming Chudley Cannons vs. Caerphilly Catapults Quidditch match in his hands like they were made of the purest gold. "Bloody fucking hell." He said reverently, staring down at them and then up at us.

"You're welcome." George grinned.

"I don't know how to… Bloody hell, I can't even…" Ron stammered, looking properly grateful for once in his life. I laughed.

"Then don't. You're going to injure yourself." I said. Ron sat back against his tree trunk with a sigh, clutching his tickets to his chest and closing his eyes happily. Hermione took the moment to push our present toward us across the grass.

"Well," She began, brushing her hair out of her face, "Since you two are married now, I figured it would be wise to get you something that you both can use. Happy Christmas."

"Thanks, Hermione." George and I said in unison. He took one end of the wrapping paper and I took the other, and we tore the package open together.

Inside was a set of cauldrons, "To use for cooking and at-home potion brewing" the label said, signed with a little flourish from Ron and Hermione. I could've kissed them both because the cauldrons we had at home were thoroughly worn from previous use as joke shop material holders/brewers/whatevers, and I didn't trust them a bit even after several washings.

From Harry, we received two books entitled Merryweather Mistofulous's Most Magical Marriage: Married and Still Friends, and Together for a Spell: On Successful Married Relationships (gag gifts that actually had George clutching his sides with laughter while flipping through their powder-pink pages), and a small, flat package that looked quite like the one we'd given Ron. George held it in his hands for a moment, then shook it as if to hear the contents rattling around inside.

"Just open it, you idiot." I said, rolling my eyes.

"Be careful, though." Harry said, "It's sort of… well, you'll see once you open it."

George grinned and gingerly tore back the paper, revealing… more paper. I looked up at Harry in confusion, but he and George were grinning at each other.

"Harry," George said, drawing out the last syllable with the smile still on his face, "Harry, this is great."

"I'm obviously missing something." I said, craning my neck to get a better look. They both ignored me.

"Of course it's not much," Harry said hurriedly, "But you and Fred gave it to me back in third year, and I figured since, y'know, I'm not at Hogwarts anymore, you might want it back."

Then I remembered George telling me about something called the Marauders' Map and I knew what was inside the package. George reached over to shake Harry's hand.

"I really appreciate that, Harry. Blimey, I can't believe it. It's been ages since I've looked at it." He unfolded the yellowing parchment and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Thin, spidery-looking lettering appeared in the center of the page, but it disappeared before I could read it and was replaced by something that looked vaguely like a large, intricate blueprint.

"Well, it's empty now because we’re so far away," George said quietly, more to himself than any of us. "And all the passageways are still blocked off. Shame." He said something else, quieter, and the blueprint vanished. He folded the parchment again and looked down at it for a little while.

"Why couldn't you have given me something like that, Harry?" Ron said like the spoiled little bastard we all understood him to be underneath all the awkward shyness and freckles. (We accept him, though. Life's a lot more interesting that way).

"Because it wasn't yours, you git." George chuckled. "Fred and I gave it to Harry to help him get into Hogsmeade."

"Well, it wasn't yours, either!" Ron protested. "You found it in Filch's office when you were first years. It's really Harry's, when you get down to it. It was his dad's."

George was clearly stumped. "I hadn't really thought of that."

"I don't want it." Harry interjected firmly. "I don't go to Hogwarts anymore. I had the map for a while and it was great, but I don't need it now. Not to mention, Fred and George used to use it the way my dad and Sirius and Lupin would have. I think that makes it rightfully George's. Besides," Harry said, switching from general speech to addressing George and I directly, "Your kids are probably going to need it. They'll be at Hogwarts before mine will. Then we'll see if there can be another trade, or something."

"Bloody brilliant." George said. "Just like how Fred and I gave it to you. I like the way you think, Harry."

They shook hands again and we resumed gift giving. For Harry, we had a box of supplies for his broom servicing kit and a package of Chocolate Cauldrons with Firewhiskey centers, and for Hermione, we'd gotten a book about Magical Theory that she'd been talking about for ages, as well as a first edition copy of Hogwarts, A History, which I found gathering dust on a shelf in the junk shop on Diagon Alley. We’d gotten Ginny a new pygmy puff because Arnold had died and a pair of earrings which made it obvious that George actually liked his sister. The way they carried on, I sometimes doubted it.

For a long time, we all sat there in the grass, holding our gifts in our laps and not saying anything. I knew that George was thinking about Fred while he stared down at the map folded in his hands. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him that I felt his twin’s absence like a hole in my chest, but I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone.

A breeze had picked up without me really noticing it, but a gust blew my hair around my face and ruffled Hermione’s book pages, breaking all of us out of our trances and making us remember that it was actually December after all. I shivered a little and George draped an arm around my shoulders without really thinking about it.

Ron finally broke the silence.

“I’m hungry.” He said.

Without any further prompting, he, George, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and myself stood, brushed the dry grass from our clothing, and trooped back inside, presents stuffed under our shirts and held behind our backs so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t see. We didn’t really have to waste our time, though, because she wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t in the den or the living room either, for that matter.

I heard her crying in her bedroom the floor above us. Ron, Ginny, and George each looked at the floor.

“Not hungry, anymore.” Ron said sadly. No one else said anything.



Later that night, when the house was quiet, George and I lay side-by-side in his old bed like we had always done. The covers were up to my chin and I stared at the shadows on the ceiling, which were cast by the lamp on the desk near the window. George was still awake. His hand found mine in the space between us. He sighed.

“How are you?” I asked, not bothering to whisper because I knew everyone else had been asleep for hours.

“Fine.” He said shortly. I glanced up at him. He, too, was studying the ceiling intently. His jaw was set most uncharacteristically, so I heaved myself up onto my elbows so that I could look him full in the face. It took him a little while to meet my gaze.

There were times when things between George and I more closely resembled the childhood friendship we’d had for so long. I suppose it was just a habit for me to call him an idiot and make fun of his missing ear, and I’d guess it was the same for him when he called me a twit and ruffled my hair. Those times were okay. I felt like I was sixteen again and without a care in the world. There were other times when I was undoubtedly George’s wife, like when he stole kisses in the storeroom and when he and I slept together in our little room above the joke shop. Married life was wonderful with George. The ring on my finger made me feel like all the proverbial pieces were falling into their proverbial places with very few mishaps along the way. I was thoroughly content being Mrs. George Weasley. Honest.

Lying there in his old bed at the Burrow, staring at him with a frown on my face, it was very difficult to tell which sort of time this was.

For one thing, I knew he most certainly was not fine. I knew George quite well, many thanks to our years at Hogwarts living more like brother and sister than anything else. George hardly ever stopped smiling, then, and when he stopped smiling now, I could attribute it to his missing Fred. For the love of Christ, it was the first Christmas without him. If George was really fine, I’d probably be terribly worried. Or disgusted, maybe.

For another thing, I missed Fred, too. The entire time I’d been at the Burrow, I’d only been able to think things along the lines of ‘Remember-when-Fred-did-such-and-such-and-when-Fred-said-such-and-such-and-how-we-all-laughed’. He’d been a best friend, and not seeing him reclining at the kitchen table or lounging across his bed made me feel like my chest was going to implode. Not to mention, the whole thing was currently killing his entire family even though they’d all previously been doing so well with that bloody ‘healing process’ everyone kept talking about.

“Liar.” I said plainly, coming out of my thoughts. George looked back up at the ceiling and nodded very slightly.

“Not sure I like Christmas anymore.” He said, putting an arm around me and clearly fighting the frown that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I miss him, too.” I said, and lay down on my stomach with my own arm across his middle.

I didn’t say anything else. I think it was enough.

-x-

Mrs. Weasley was herself the next morning.

I was first awakened by George’s rumbling snores, but after a few minutes of sleepy fuzz and disorientation, I became aware of the sounds of kitchen-related bustling. I almost whooped for joy, but I decided to stay quiet because I still had no idea what time it was and no one would be very pleased with me if I woke them all an hour or two too early.

I lifted George’s wrist – the one with the watch on it – and held it close to my face so that I could read the time. It was nearly seven thirty. Without much ceremony, I dropped George’s arm back across his bare chest and sat up, my legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He woke with a start, all glassy-eyed with flailing limbs.

“Fucking hell, Lacey.” He said thickly once he realized nothing was wrong, then rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets up over his shoulder. He immediately closed his eyes.

“George,” I hissed, tugging the blankets back again. “George, listen.”

He grudgingly opened one eye and stared off into space with the trademark expression of someone listening for something without knowing who or what it was. After a minute, his eye widened. The other one opened and he sat bolt upright, his hair askew. The blankets fell around his waist, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold. He was grinning, all traces of sleepiness gone from his face.

“That’s Mum.” He said. “Ron’ll have heard her, too.”

We both stood and I waited by the door while he found a shirt to put on. Sure enough, when we left the room, Ron was waiting on the landing, listening hard.

“I think that’s Mum.” He whispered, furrowing his brow in concentration. “Dad doesn’t know how to cook.”

He and George fought each other to be the first downstairs. I followed slowly, though not any less excitedly, after and entered the kitchen to see my mother in law standing and frying green tomatoes in a cast iron pan. A large cauldron of porridge bubbled over the fire, there was a pot of tea on the table, and a platter of bacon waited – still sizzling – on the cutting board. George and Ron stood in the doorway grinning like fools.

“Oh, wonderful, you’re up.” Mrs. Weasley said brightly. She flourished her wand and the tomatoes soared from the pan and onto a waiting plate, and with another little wave, the pan flew into the sink where it began to wash itself. “I hope everyone’s hungry. I wanted George and Lacey to have something before they left. The shop’s bound to be busy. Goodness knows they won’t be able to find anything when they get home. Come on, come on, sit down. You too, Lacey, I see you back there.”

Ron, George, and I grinned at each other like the three biggest idiots in existence and sat down. Without waiting to be told twice, we tucked in. Goodness knew we didn’t want Mrs. Weasley to feel underappreciated. I suppose it took an entire holiday of not having her to make us realize how much we needed her. Selfish, maybe. Correct, completely.

I saw Mrs. Weasley smile warmly at George and he return the gesture. The moment made what had to be the most uncomfortably mixed up and unusual days of my life seem okay in the end.

Here’s a loud hurrah for normalcy.