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Percy had sent back his sweater. So what? Who cared? Not Fred, that was for certain. Fred hadn’t cared when Percy walked out. Fred hadn’t cared when Percy didn’t show up for Christmas, even if Dad had been attacked, and could’ve died, and Percy really should’ve been there. Fred hadn’t cared because...it didn’t feel real. Bill and Charlie were off in Egypt and Romania, respectively, and they hardly ever saw them. It was fine. So that was Fred’s plan for Christmas. Pretend Percy was just...off in some other country doing who-knows-what. Because he was the oldest now. And he was...Fred. He doesn’t cry. The last time he’d cried was the night Harry came out of the maze, because sure he’d never known Cedric, but never in a million years had he imagined it could be someone his own age.
He was the oldest brother now. It felt weird to think about. Ron and Ginny needed him. Even George needed him, though he’d get hexed if he mentioned it, because “it’s only a three minutes difference, prat.” So, he’d be the older brother who held himself together, and made jokes, and said that they didn’t need that pompous git anyways.
And he had been. For the entire day, he’d been exactly that, and they’d visited Dad, exchanged presents, and he’d teased Harry for that hideous portrait Dobby had sent. They’d all exchanged gifts, and had a lovely Christmas dinner, where Fred made remarks to Sirius about the French just to watch Bill’s face.
But now it was late. The house was quiet, and dark. He had quietly lit his wand while George was still sleeping, gotten out of bed, and made his way downstairs. And that’s how he ended up where he was now. In a sitting room of Grimmauld Place, looking at a half-unwrapped parcel that Mum had forgotten to put away.
Percy had sent back his sweater. He had known, but seeing it now was different. Or perhaps, he mused everything is just different at this time of night.
Fred wasn’t usually the introspective type. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was sad or angry, as he stared at the soft, knitted sweater. He knew this yarn. It was bright crimson, and incredibly soft. The P was done in a golden yellow of the same material, and Fred ignored the irony of the Gryffindor colors. He and George had gotten this yarn for Mum for her birthday, with a bit of the money Harry had given them for the shop. It was just a cut above what she usually used, and she had referred to it as ‘the good yarn.’
Mum had used her good yarn on Percy. Had Percy known that, when he sent it back? Then something else occurred to him: Had Percy even sent Mum a birthday gift? He couldn’t very well ask Mum, and I can’t very well ask Percy he thought angrily, but he assumed the answer was no.
He still couldn’t believe it. Sending back your sweater was...unheard of. No matter how much he and George had grown from beater training since the summer, no matter how many times Bill had gotten a W for William instead of Bill, no matter how many times Ron got maroon, no one had ever sent back a sweater.
Fred unwrapped the rest of the sweater, and held it up. He ran his hands over the nice yarn. Mum’s ‘good yarn’. He traced the large P embroidered on it. He shrugged it on, telling himself he only wanted to see if Mum had gotten the measurements right.
She had. It was tight on his own arms, and hung below his waist, because Percy was a stringbean, like Ron. Ron might pass him though. Being the tallest had always been a competition between all of them, and whenever they teased Ron for being younger, Dad would say “Just you boys wait, he’ll sprout up when you’re least expecting it.”
Dad. He’d been attacked. And Percy hadn’t even shown up. That should be a big deal right? So how come Fred couldn’t help but think that sending back a sweater was a greater insult?
Had he even opened it? He must’ve. There was no card, and Mum would never send a sweater without a card. So Percy must’ve kept the card….right? Fred didn’t know what he was doing here. Wearing his older brother’s rejected Christmas sweater in the middle of the night, worrying about whether or not Percy had kept a Christmas card. Percy had probably just chucked it in the bin, and that was that. Apparently, Percy had better things to think about then his mother’s feelings. Fred was about to pull off the sweater out of anger, when a voice came from behind him.
“What are you doing?” it asked, gently, albeit confused. Fred turned around. It was Sirius, illuminated by his own wandlight. Sirius looked him up and down, before saying “Well, I had it narrowed down to Fred or George, but the sweaters not much of a clue.” Fred winced, and shrugged the sweater off.
“Never is. We switch from time to time. Not all that often, but no one’s ever sure. Keeps people on their toes,” he rambled, embarrassed. “I’m Fred, though.”
“I see. And can I ask what you’re doing, Fred?” Fred got into a great deal of mischief, and he could tell when he was about to get in trouble. This was not one of those times. Sirius was cool, and he really just seemed curious. Of course, that didn’t mean Fred was going to be honest.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied instead. Sirius' grey eyes stared at him, and Fred wondered if he was about to get called out for...whatever it is you call what Fred was doing. It was the sort of thing he himself would’ve referred to as ‘being a sentimental prat.’ Thankfully, Sirius just nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen.
“Me neither. I’m making tea. Or drinking. Haven’t decided yet.” Fred smirked, and followed Sirius into the kitchen. Sirius looked over his shoulder at him, eyes flickering from Fred’s face, to the sweater which Fred just realized he was still holding. “First Christmas without your brother?” he asked.
Darn. He was good. Fred nodded, but didn’t say anything. Sirius sighed, “Well, I suppose it’s mine too. In a manner of speaking. First one I’ve actually celebrated, at least.”
"I didn't know you had a brother." Fred said, posing it as a question.
"Yep," Sirius answered. "One in blood, one in spirit." Fred got the feeling this was a conversation he'd had before, because before Fred could even ask what that meant, he explained. "Regulus and James, respectively."
The names didn't exactly mean anything to Fred, but then he remembered something. "Was James...Harry's dad?"
"Yeah." Sirius nodded. He walked into the kitchen, and started towards the cabinets, lighting up the room with a flick of his wand. "We were close. He was like a brother to me, maybe even more so than Regulus."
"You weren't close with your brother?" Fred asked. He really didn't know why he was asking, other than...there was something familiar about it all, that he couldn't put his finger on.
Sirius turned to look at him, and Fred wondered just how much he saw. "Nah," he answered. "Little git believed everything darling Mother and Father told him."
"Is your mother…?" Fred started, but Sirius finished the question for him.
"The nutcase portrait spitting slurs at everyone?" Fred nodded, and looked down. Merlin, I'm still holding the stupid sweater. "That's her. Lovely woman, taught Regs and I everything she knew about the Dark Arts. It was...an eventful childhood." He had an odd, bitter smirk on his face that Fred couldn't quite decipher.
Fred wondered what said brother, one who was apparently a blood-purist, would think about Sirius being a supposed Death Eater. "Does your brother know that you're...that you didn't do it?" Fred had a guess that he didn't, but didn't want to say.
Sirius' smile dimmed. He bit his lip, and shook his head. "No. I don't suppose he does."
"I'm sorry," Fred muttered. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, which was probably stupid since he'd asked in the first place. "Do you...d'you at least know where he is?" he asked, in a voice that he hoped sounded sympathetic, instead of just...confused.
"'Bout six feet under." Came the reply. Oh. Fred certainly hadn't expected that. "First war," Sirius added, in response to Fred's unspoken question. Which side? Fred wondered. But the answer was rather obvious from the rest of the conversation. Darn, he thought. Is it gonna get to that point with Percy, too?
Fred wasn't stupid, he knew there was a war going on. He'd rather it just ended. He only knew of one person that'd died, and it was already too much.
Sirius yanked open the cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey along with two glasses. "So, you decided on drinking?" Fred asked, attempting to lighten things up, because that was just the way he dealt with things. It failed miserably, though.
"We'll need it if we keep talking about family." Sirius nodded at the sweater that he was still holding. Fred dropped it on the floor unceremoniously. Sirius raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. They walked over to the kitchen table, and sat down opposite each other.
"So," Sirius began, as he poured them both some firewhiskey. "Tell me about Percy." He nodded his head at the sweater on the floor.
Fred shrugged. "He's a prat."
"So I've heard," Sirius replied, with a smirk. "But speaking as a long time member of the my-brother's-a-prat club...you miss him?" It was all at once a question and a statement. Apparently, this man, who a few moments ago wasn't sure which twin he was, could read him like a book. Of course, that didn't mean Fred would make it easy. He just shrugged, and took a sip of his firewhiskey. It burned going down, and he winced slightly. Sirius grinned at him, before knocking back his own glass with a straight face.
"It's his own fault," Fred told him. "He's the one who walked out."
Sirius was examining his glass. "I was the one who walked out," he muttered, and there was something in his tone. Guilt. Regret. That was odd. After all, Sirius had grown up here. No wonder he walked out. He said as much, and Sirius chuckled. "That's what I thought too. And James, and Remus, and Andromeda. Not Regulus though. Reckon it's different when you're the one left behind." Could he not? The way he looked at Fred when he said that was...unsettling. It was too knowing.
"It's different. With Perce. Percy, I mean. It's different, it doesn't matter who walked out on who, it matters who's right and who's wrong." Fred's voice shook a little as he said it, and he tried to disguise it by taking another sip of the firewhiskey, which he was gradually getting used to.
"Maybe," was all Sirius said. That wasn't incredibly reassuring.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks until Fred asked "When you said it was your first Christmas without your brother…" I thought you said you ran away, how is that possible? But there was no polite way to say that that Fred knew of.
"I meant James." Sirius saved him the embarrassment of having to finish his question. "I haven't celebrated Christmas since...1980. Merlin, I forgot I'm old," he laughed. “It’s weird. Not having him around. It was one thing when he and Lily got married, but I could always write, or floo him, and,” he smiled at a memory, “we had these enchanted two-way mirrors we’d use. Merlin, I forgot about those. Wonder where they got to.” He sipped his firewhiskey. “You’d think I’d be used to it, after fourteen years, but now that I’m living some semblance of a normal life…” He didn’t finish the thought, but simply shrugged in explanation.
“Did you miss your brother? Regulus, I mean.” Fred wasn’t sure what compelled him to ask, but he was suddenly extremely curious about the mysterious boy. Perhaps it was just because Sirius talked about his family so little. Or maybe...there was something about Sirius’ long-dead brother that reminded him of Percy. And maybe just a little bit of himself. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, which only made it come back tenfold.
Sirius had an odd look on his face, a cocktail of emotions that Fred didn’t quite know how to decipher. “Yeah. When he died, of course. But also when I left. I... I thought he hated me, so I guess I never really considered that he could’ve missed me, too. We got into a row one night. I...there were rumours going around, and he was sixteen, and that was the age my parents had asked me to…” Sirius immediately stopped talking, wearing the shocked look of someone who suddenly realized they were spilling all their dirty laundry to a seventeen year old. “I...well...I’d asked him to meet me on the astronomy tower, because...I dunno, we were Blacks, and, well, it was the astronomy tower. We got into a row, and we both said things, and he said that it was all my fault, I shouldn’t’ve left, all that. I mean...I don’t regret it. Leaving. Should’ve dragged the little brat with me, kicking and screaming, but still, leaving was...the right thing to do. My point is, Fred…” He met Fred’s gaze with his all-too-knowing stare. “Percy’s your brother. I’m sure he misses you. You don’t just lose that relationship overnight. No burnt tapestry, no returned sweater, is going to get rid of that. You’re stuck with him, prat or not.”
Fred crossed his arms, and gave Sirius his best petulant-teenager-glare. He hated how right this man was. He wanted to say that Sirius had no idea what it was like, but that clearly wasn’t true. “So what, I’m just supposed to say ‘Hey, Perce, despite you saying you want nothing to do with this family anymore, I still miss you, and I’d love it if you stopped treating the lot of us like dirt and came home for the holidays.’?”
Sirius curled up the corner of his mouth in a half-smile, and he raised an eyebrow. “Rather cynical, that.”
“Rather accurate, though,” Fred countered. “You didn’t hear him. What he said about Dad…” It had just been so...uncalled for. Sure, maybe Dad could have gotten a promotion if he’d tried, and maybe they wouldn’t have had to scrimp and save quite as much each school year, but...well, Dad was happy where he was. What could he say? Dad loved his plugs. He remembered his face when he unwrapped the wire and screwdrivers Harry had given him. Harry. That was another thing. “He says Harry’s a liar,” Fred continued, “he’s siding with the Ministry through all of this, and he just worships Fudge-”
Fred was going to continue, but Sirius cut him off. “You don’t have to just...forgive him out of the blue, but just...be ready. Several weeks before he was reported missing, Regulus...he owled me.”
“What did he say?” Fred asked.
Sirius shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. I was nineteen, and stupid, so I chucked it in the fire unopened.” He poured himself another firewhiskey.
“Oh,” was all Fred said back. He awkwardly sipped his own drink.
“Yeah,” Sirius replied, looking genuinely put out. “I’ve thought about it a lot since. It’s even worse now, being in this stupid house.” He grimaced, and took a swig of his firewhiskey. “There were a lot of rumours going around, but people seemed to believe Regs had tried to back out. And maybe if I’d just read his letter...well, at least I’d know one way or the other. What I’m saying is, at some point, Percy could change. And if he reaches out to you...just be ready to accept him. It’s not easy to lose your family, and I don’t think the Ministry is full of James Potters.” He looked into his glass, and muttered: “Wouldn’t be in this sodding war if it was.” He looked back up. “Maybe you should get to bed, kiddo. I don’t think your Mum would like you up and drinking, let alone with me.” Sirius smirked a little. Fred nodded. It wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret that Mum didn’t get on with Sirius. “Just...give Percy a chance. If he wants one, that is.”
Fred simply replied “Yeah.” As he stood up, and walked towards the kitchen door, he saw the sweater on the ground. It looked different. It didn’t feel like it was taunting him the way it had been earlier. He picked it up, and ran his hands over the initial. The yarn was so soft. ‘The good yarn’ Mum called it. “I just hope he does,” he added.
“It comes down to what’s important to him.” He heard Sirius say from behind him. Yeah, but what if that’s not us? Fred wondered. “And I don’t think someone grows up in the Weasley household without a solid understanding of family.” Sirius continued. Fred didn’t know if that was true, but he forced himself to hope.
He bid Sirius good night, before heading upstairs. He left the sweater in the living room he’d found it in, and hoped that no one would pay it too much mind tomorrow. When he got to the room he and George were staying in, he laid down, but couldn’t manage to quiet his mind. He saw Errol coming to the window, and got up to let him in. Who could be sending an owl this late? He found himself hoping that it was Percy, but he told himself it was just a recency effect.
The letter turned out to be for George, from Angelina, who was either really into him, or hadn’t accounted for their staying in London when she sent Errol off again. He took the letter from the owl, and threw it haphazardly onto George’s bedside table. He figured now he had an owl at his disposal, he might as well make use of it. He grabbed some parchment and a quill from his trunk, before realizing he had no idea what to say. He settled on a short, scribbled note.
Perce-
Happy belated Christmas!
Your brother,
Fred
He folded the note, and, without bothering with an envelope, tied it to Errol. “This is for Percy. You know where he is, you gave him his Christmas sweater, remember?” He whispered, trying not to wake George. Errol tilted his head in confusion, but Errol always did that, so Fred figured it was good enough, and carried the bird to the window.
Fred didn’t receive a response. He told himself he hadn’t expected one in the first place. At some point or another Errol had returned to the family. Still no reply. Maybe Percy had never received the letter in the first place. He had used Errol, after all.
It was years later, and they were all in the Room of Requirement, anticipating the battle that could start any moment, when Percy fell through the portrait, frantically asking if the battle had started yet.
He probably hadn’t expected the rest of them to be right there, and they all stood around awkwardly for a few seconds, until Percy spoke up. “I was a fool! I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I--was a--a--” his voice nervously tapered off as he looked around at their faces.
“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” Fred finished, with ire that he thought was rather justified, thank you.
Percy swallowed. “Yes, I was!” Fred grinned. He hadn’t quite expected that, but he’d certainly hoped.
Fred extended his hand to Percy. “Well, you can’t say fairer than that.” They shook on it, and Percy clapped Fred on the shoulder with his other hand.
Percy whispered, low enough that only the two of them heard it, “Happy belated Christmas, Fred.”