It was Christmas once again at the burrow. Everyone one was full of Christmas turkey and the dishes were washing themselves. Ginny sat on Harry’s lap both were relaxed against the back of the arm chair quietly talking to each other, whilst Ron snored against the corner of the sofa and Hermione gently dozed against him, two opposites so unlike but so fully in love. No one had noticed the sad glint in George’s eye as he leant against the wall close to the fire place, distant but smiling. Nor did they notice the tear rolling down his eye as he blinked himself back to reality. Or that he was wearing a knitted jumper with the letter ‘F’ on it, not ‘G’. He wiped the tear away and made some vague excuse to leave the room. Mrs Weasley smiled up at him her face soft and knowing but went along with excuse anyway. As he sat on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair he wondered how he was ever going to have a happy Christmas again. He opened his bedside draw looking for a tissue but instead felt something else. He pulled it out. It was an old picture given to him by Fred. The two of them stood there laughing looking from the camera to each other and back again; written on the back was: ‘I hope you have a Happy Christmas brother, F x’
