Learn to Love Again | George Weasley

41. A Confetti Christmas

Christmas Day 1999

The Burrow was eerily silent that Christmas Eve night, or to be more technically correct - Christmas morning. It was just after 3 am and George was still wide awake working on brainstorming a new product by the dim light of the lamp on his disk in his childhood bedroom. The sleeping draught he'd been prescribed had been working wonderfully over the last few weeks, but he'd neglected to pack it when he, Charlie, and Verity had arrived for dinner the night before.

At his last appointment, his mind healer Suzan advised him to busy himself whenever he was beginning to feel anxious or on nights that he couldn't sleep. Rather than ruminating on thoughts that would cause him to spiral, it would be better to occupy his mind with something more productive.

So that's what lead him to designing a product in the middle of the night he neither knew how to get working or if it'd ever leave the preliminary planning stage at all. But it was the first time in quite a while that he actually felt somewhat inspired to make anything and he didn't want it to go to waste.

The alternative was laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, wondering what Eloise was dreaming about right now, considering whether or not he should have gotten Alicia a gift, thinking about how he was going to have to celebrate yet another holiday without Fred, contemplating sneaking back to the flat in the middle of the night and skipping Christmas with his family all together. Scribbling random notes and sketching on a scrap piece of parchment without a doubt seemed like the much healthier option.

At some point in the night George had dozed off at his desk, only to be woken up by a sharp knock at his door and the sound of his mother's voice behind it.

"Happy Christmas, darling! Breakfast will be ready soon!"

All George could muster was a sleepy groan, as he felt the pain in his shoulders and spine from being hunched over his desk for hours. But Molly didn't seem too concerned with his lack of a response as he heard her footsteps grow quieter as she descended the stairs to return to the kitchen. When he glanced over at the clock on the opposite wall, it read seven thirty. At most George had gotten four hours of sleep, and he certainly felt like it.

After failed attempts at working out the painful kink in his neck, he dug through the small trunk he'd packed the night before, pulling out an old green sweater and a comfortable pair of jeans to change into. The top he chose didn't really matter much as Molly would make everyone change into their newly knit jumpers by the time lunch rolled around.

When he made his way down into the kitchen, he found a pot of tea already made so he silently poured himself a cup as his mother focused on the eggs and bacon she was preparing for the family. Despite his recent wakeup call, it seemed that most of his siblings were still lingering in their respective rooms trying desperately to get that extra five minutes of rest in before a long day of celebrations. Even though the Burrow was mostly quiet, George still heard two distinct laughs coming from the lounge that he never thought he'd hear together.

Out of curiosity, he made his way across the hall and into the living room, finding Verity and Fleur sitting next to each other on the couch, wrapped in blankets and laughing together about something. George couldn't help but find the scene quite confusing. For as long as he could remember the two of them couldn't stand one another. But maybe their mutual friendship with Eloise was what helped bring them together, that or the fact that they could now bond over being disliked by Molly.

"Speak of the devil." Verity said to Fleur as she gestured towards George.

Fleur flicked her head around to face him with a smile, "Jouyeux Noël, George."