Betsy's Christmas Fan Fiction

Lonely Christmas
by Betsy

George Weasley shivered in his cloak. Snow drifted down around him. He walked down the lonely street. It was Christmas eve at eleven-o-clock. One more hour until Christmas. George remembered happier Christmases. The ones where his brother Fred had been there. This would be the first Christmas since Fred had died in the final battle against Voldemort. George knew that this Christmas would be a very quiet one. With Fred gone, and Remus and Tonks gone (they had also been killed in the battle), George had a feeling that this would also be a very sad Christmas. Fred and George had been inseparable. George remembered the Christmas when he and Fred had been five......

"George! get out of the pudding!" called Molly Weasley.

"But Mum, Fred and I have to keep our strength up!" George answered.

"What for?" asked Arthur Weasley.

"For dinner, of course!" shouted Fred.

"Brothers," muttered Bill Weasley (the oldest) although, he was secretly amused.

George sighed. That had been one of the best Christmases of his life. Although, it had stiff competition. Another one of his favorites, had been when he and Fred where seven.....

"Mum, it's Christmas Eve!" shouted the second youngest, Ron Weasley, at the age four.

"We all know," said Fred.

"There's no reason to point it out!" said George.

"Mummy, is Fafer Cwristmas coming tonight?" asked the youngest Weasley, Ginny. She was three.

"Yes, dear," said Molly.


George chuckled at the memory. He had been nine when he and Fred had tried to get into their brother Charley's gifts....


"Fred! George! what are you doing? Those gifts are not for you!"

"Muuuum. You never let us look at the presents for other people!"

"Because they don't belong to you! Now run along and play."



George suddenly remembered a dream he had had on Christmas eve........


"Mum, guess what? I had a dream that I got a broom for Christmas! I got really mad when I woke up. I didn't want it to be a dream!"


George shivered. There was one time he had wanted to wake up. Wanted it to be a dream. The night Fred had died. That had been horrible. Tears slid down George's face. He missed his brother so much. Life was never going to be the same without Fred. Already the joke shop was quieter. More lonely. Just like this Christmas was going to be.

George walked past house after house with lights on. People inside enjoying themselves on Christmas Eve. George thought that that was something he would probably never be able to do again. Then he came up-on an empty house. There was a grave yard behind it. George drew in a sharp breath. That was the graveyard where Remus, Tonks, and Fred were buried. He looked up at the house. It was the one Remus and Tonks had live in. He would come back to it later. Right now, he wanted to visit the grave yard. He walked back and found Remus and Tonks's graves. He knelt and said a quick prayer for their souls. Then he moved to the back of the grave yard.

Fred's grave was there. He knelt when he got there. Tears streaming down his face. He wanted Fred to rejoin him on this earth. But he knew that it was impossible. Fred was gone for good. There was no bringing him back. George bowed his headand said a prayer for the soul of his brother. He then got to his feet and walked back in front of the house. He just couldn't bring himself to go inside. Too many hard memories. He turned and walked in the other direction. He saw a large pine tree. He hurried over and sat underneath it. The snow began falling harder. George lay down and closed his eyes. thinking......


"Mum, How much wonger till Mr. Christmas comes?" Ron asked at the age of three.

"The sooner you fall alseep, the sooner he will come."

"And, it's Father Christmas. Not Mr Christmas," said Fred.

"Yes, Ron. You must learn not to call everyone Mr. What if you walked up to a woman and said, Hello Mr. -- How do you think the woman would feel?" said George.


George wiped his eyes on his sleeve. It was so hard being without the person who had been by his side always. Fred had always been there. He almost never left George's side. George without Fred was like a lake without water. That's how close they were.

When they were little, they weren't known as Fred and his twin George, or George and his twin Fred, it was always "Fred and George." Or, sometimes, Fredgeorge. Now, it was George. Just George. Never any Fred. George missed that Fred and George. He missed Fred. Almost every time he thought of Fred, he got this pain in his stomach. A very bad pain. George rolled over onto his back, and stared up at the trees branches. He was feeling that pain in his stomach again. It hurt so much.

George wished he could fall asleep and wake up three years earlier. Right at that moment, the world seemed like ice. Extremely cold. He lay on that soft snow wishing he was dead. Then, he would be with Fred. But, he would cause his family more pain then they deserved. More pain then they needed. He didn't want his family to feel any more pain than they already were. None of them had yet gotten over the death of Fred. None of them ever fully would. There would always be an empty spot. Or that's how it would always be for George. When Fred had died, Part of George had died too. That one spot where Fred had been ... that spot was empty now. It always would be. George knew that he would never ever see Fred again, but it was still hard to think about.

George pulled his cloak tighter around his body. He was cold both outside, and inside. He remembered even more clearly the night Fred had died now more then ever........


George heard Percy's shout. George went running in the direction that the shout had come from. He found Fred's body. Fred had died laughing. George could tell.


George got to his feet and raced back to the house. He yanked open the door and ran into his room. He lay himself down onto his bed, and cried. He soon fell asleep. When the clock struck midnight, he jerked awake. He closed his eyes again, and listened to the clock.

The End

Mom's Christmas Fan Fiction

The Gift of the Weasley
by Mom

What can I possibly give him? Molly Weasley wondered. After twenty-five years of marriage, there simply are no surprises left. It will be another dull Christmas for my dear, sweet Arthur.

She glanced over at her knitting needles, which sat in a basket in the far corner of the living room. Another scarf, I suppose, she sighed.

Molly usually loved Christmas. She always dove into her gift-making early, shopping all the wizard yarn stores (except Yolanda's Wonderful Yarn World, which was far too expensive), and finding treasures in their clearance bins, treasures that she could transform into lovely clothes for her husband and children. It was both thrifty and creative, and she prided herself on being able to provide Christmas gifts for everyone at such a tiny cost. Ron, she knew, was always delighted with his sweaters! And Ginny could always be counted on to rave about the newest pattern Molly had dreamed up to complete a shawl, a poncho, or a cardigan. But this year, something was different for Molly. It was nothing enormous, nothing that troubled the wizarding world or threatened anyone's security. Nothing like the previous year, when their dear Ginny had fallen into such danger at the hands of Voldemort. Molly shuddered. No, no, it was nothing like that. And given that this year's Christmas promised to be a safe and quiet one, Molly should have felt content. But she was fretting.

Perhaps it was precisely because last year had been so fraught with danger that the "usual and expected" didn't seem like enough this year. Yes, the scarves and sweaters offered a warm, secure feeling, a sense of tradition, and she knew everyone loved them. But, still. She found herself longing to make this year truly spectacular in some way, to come up with a gift for her husband that said, "I'm so grateful! For everything!"

Molly wandered into the kitchen and waved her wand, setting a potato peeler to work. She thought about all the things her husband loved most. His wife, of course. The children. And all things muggle. Yes -- That was it! She would get him something muggle-related! That would be different, and unexpected. It would be something really special and different. But what?

*****

Arthur sat in his workshed, eyeing a toaster oven. He smiled at the memory of how it had come to him. Harry had given it to him for his birthday last year. Oh, that Harry. Such a thoughtful boy. Arthur remembered Harry's anticipation as he had opened the gift, and Harry's laughter when Arthur had gasped with delight at this new addition to the muggle collection. Now, Arthur's eyes roamed over the room, and his thoughts flitted from his main dilemma -- what to get his wife for Christmas -- to the many objects in his collection. Each object had a memory attached to it, a story, a history. In the corner sat those shiny hubcaps, which he'd always meant to put on the Ford Anglia, but now that the Anglia lived a wild life in the woods, the hubcaps sat untouched. In another corner was an electric sweeper. Such a funny muggle idea. On a workbench perched a Salad Shooter and a Ped-Egg. It was Arthur's understanding that these particular items were coveted Christmas gifts in the muggle world, but he simply couldn't envision Molly wanting either one. No, these silly muggle inventions weren't Molly material. Parts of his precious collection, yes. Oh, how he loved all things muggle. But his Ducky? She couldn't care less for such things.

Arthur loved trying to surprise Molly at Christmas, but after so many years of marriage, he felt he'd run out of surprising ideas. Molly frequently said that as long as she had Arthur and her family, she had everything she wanted and needed in order to be happy. But Arthur worried that it wasn't true. There must be something he could do, some gift he could give, that would make Molly exquisitely happy. But what?

*****

Window shopping among stores she normally avoided due to their high prices, Molly spotted one gorgeous extravagance after another. She stopped in front of Twindoozle's Fine Furniture and admired an enormous, intricately carved bookcase. The sign in the window said that it was carved from the wood of a firehorn, a magical tree that grew only in certain forests whose inhabitants included unicorns. The bookcase was breathtaking, its wood polished to a blazing shine. It would be exactly the thing to house Arthur's muggle collection! No more squirreling things away in the workshed, piling things in the attic, or stacking them in corners to keep them out of her way. Finally, her dear Arthur could have a place to display all the things he was so proud of, and not only would she not complain about them, she would provide their new home. One glance at the price confirmed what Molly already knew: the only way she could afford the bookcase was to put her secret plan into action. She hurried home to begin.

*****

Arthur walked into Yolanda's Wonderful Yarn World and marveled at the staggering amount of yarn: yarn in every color, texture, shape and size. There were deep purples and cranberry reds, buttery yellows and kelly greens, orange, silver, gold, magenta, fuscia, and burnt sienna. There was plain-and-simple, and thick-and-fuzzy. There were skeins of yarn in the shape of cats and owls, dragons and reindeer. What would anyone do with all of this yarn? My Molly, thought Arthur, would do wonders with it! She would be in knitting heaven, he knew. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she opened her enormous Christmas gift and beheld yards of exquisite yarn, yarn she had never been able to afford. But, first, he had to take care of some business.

*****

Ginny was upstairs when she heard a sort of a jingling, clinky sound.

"What's Mum doing?" she asked Ron.

"I dunno," said Ron, who was holding two candy canes in one hand and an unusually large piece of fudge in the other. He shoved the fudge into his mouth. "Mayme shededorating dor Drittmudd."

"What?" said Ginny, with a frown. "Ron! Don't talk with your mouth full! That's just disgusting! Now, say it again, please."

Ron swallowed hard and licked his lips. "I said," he began again, and then licked his fingers, "that maybe she's decorating for Christmas." He bit into the end of a candy cane.

"Oh," replied Ginny, looking thoughtful. "Maybe. But I thought we were all going to do that together this weekend?" She reached over and flicked some chocolate off Ron's face.

Ron pushed her hand away and then shrugged. "Who knows? All that decorating's woman stuff, anyway. I don't care when she does it. I'm hoping to slip out and avoid the whole thing. Fred and I are going sledding this weekend."

Ginny shook her head and dismissed her brother with a little wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes.

*****

Arthur ducked out of Pinnoggin's Pawn and hurried up the street. Just as he reached the corner, he ran into his wife.

"Molly! What are you doing here?"

"Arthur! What are you doing here?"

"Me? Why, nothing! Nothing! Just a little Christmas shopping. Umm, I was just ..." He glanced desperately around and saw that he was standing next to Druscilla's Dance Studio. "I was just in there," he said with a nod of his head toward the door.

"The dance studio? Why, Arthur, are you giving me dancing lessons for Christmas?" Molly laughed. "It's a little late to remedy my clumsy ways, dear."

Arthur reddened and looked down at the sidewalk. "Well, my dear, we all have our little secrets of the season, don't we?" He looked up and into her eyes and added, "I wasn't really in there, Molly. But, I am trying to keep a secret." He smiled weakly.

Molly beamed at him. Oh, how he loved beam. He couldn't wait to give her her Christmas gift.

"Oh, Arthur. You dear, dear man. You are simply too good to me!"

Arthur suddenly noticed that Molly was carrying her largest tote bag, the one with Gilderoy Lockhart's picture embroidered on the front. It looked quite full of something.

"What's in your bag, dear?"

Molly jumped. It was her turn to blush. "Well, well, I, uh ...." she stammered, "I, too, am trying to keep a secret, and so you just hurry on home now and leave me to it. Go on, now! Go, go, go!"

She shooed her husband away. Arthur crossed the street and disappeared. Molly stood in front of the dance studio until he was out of sight. Now, she thought, on with it!

*****

On Christmas morning, Molly was more excited than she had been for years. Arthur would be shocked, thrilled and ecstatic about his gift.

The children opened all their gifts first, and each expressed amazement that among their gifts there was not a single sweater.

"Mum! How did you afford these books? And these brand, new clothes? And all this candy from Swoonworthy Sweets? You always give us homemade sweaters!"

"Well, I had a little secret weapon this year," said Molly with a sly smile. "And now it's time for your father to open his gift." Molly walked toward a corner of the room, and said, "I borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak to cover this up. Thankfully, no one has walked into it. But, Arthur, here is your gift!" She pulled the cloak from the bookcase with a magician's flourish. The entire family gasped at the gorgeous, gleaming wood of the shelves. "Merry Christmas, dear! It's a very special shelf just for you, to display all of your favorite muggle items!"

Arthur looked stricken, as though he might faint. "Molly ... Molly, ducky, how did you ever afford such a thing?"

"Well, my sweet, as you know, all of the knitting needles that I inherited from my dear, departed mother were made from precious gems -- rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, ground and polished and fashioned into needles. You've never let me sell them, even when we've fallen on our hardest times, because you knew how much they meant to me, and how much I love to knit. But, Arthur, I love you more than any object, more than I love my knitting, and it was time to sell them. For you! I sold them at Pinnoggin's Pawn and I used the money to get gifts for the children, and to buy you this bookshelf!"

Arthur stumbled forward, and touched the shelf. "It's gorgeous, Molly. It's simply splendid. I can't imagine a more thoughtful or a more self-sacrificing gift. But, I ...."

"What is it, dear?" asked Molly, who was beginning to worry. Her husband wasn't taking this at all as she had expected.

"Well," said Arthur, and he slowly shook his head. He smiled wanly. "Molly, open your gift."

Molly turned to the huge box that was marked, "To my Ducky," and ripped off the paper. Inside the box was every kind of yarn that she could ever have hoped for or imagined. She gasped, and then her face fell. "But," she began, "I sold all my knitting needles...."

"Yes," said Arthur, whose smile was growing. "And I sold my entire muggle collection in order to afford these outrageously expensive yarns!" He held his arms open to his wife, who fell into them with an enormous laugh. They hugged one another, and then Molly wiped away one tiny tear.

"Oh, Arthur!," she said, "Merry Christmas, my love! You mean more to me than anything I could buy, or sell, or imagine!"

"And you mean more to me than a squintillion toaster ovens, Molly, dear!"

They hugged again, and beamed at one another as their children looked on, stunned.

"But," said Ron, "but, but ... you both messed this up royally!"

They looked at Ron, and at one another, and laughed again, sure that their children thought they had gone insane.

"We may have made a royal mess of our gifts, Ron," said Arthur, "but we feel like royalty! No king was ever more loved and cherished than I!"

"And no queen more loved than I!" said Molly.

Ron shook his head. "This is brilliant," he said. "Just brilliant." He looked around at his brothers and sister, and said, "What's for breakfast?"

Everyone burst out laughing, and Ron said, "What? Can't a guy be hungry on Christmas morning?"

Molly and Arthur looked at each other and, arm in arm, headed for the kitchen. "Let's make breakfast, Ducky," said Arthur. Molly snuggled up close to him as they headed for the kitchen. "At least we still have a kitchen and some food," he added, "and apparently that's all the Christmas Ron needs."

Molly laughed. "Well, I'm grateful for that," she said. "I'm so grateful, Arthur! For everything!"

The End