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James loved his family, truly he did, but that didn’t mean he had to want to spend time with them. He didn’t understand why he should have to, but no one else in the family seemed to have an issue. His mother said that it was normal to rebel against spending time with family, and being uncomfortable at family gatherings were a requirement, but she knew Uncle Fred and therefore she was part of the problem.
Every year his family gathered at the Burrow for the holidays, and every year the season was stifled and ruined by the continued grieving of his late uncle. Every attempt at a joke, every sweet gift, every smile, was liable to send his grandmother into wailing sobs and Uncle George merely got very quiet, angrily staring at nothing until he went home and everyone followed suit shortly after.
Another great Yule.
“I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t care, you’re going.”
James sighed heavily through the nose and glared at her as she helped Lily with her hair. He should have gone to his dad, who would have at least let him debate, but with Mum it was autocratic.
“You don’t even know what that word means,” she told him when he said so. “Now stop arguing and go brush your hair. It looks like a fairy nest.”
“Well maybe I like it this way,” he said stubbornly. “Maybe I think it looks dashing.”
She stopped her ministrations and bowed her head. James smirked, knowing that she hated it when Grandmum told him that, but the smirk faded at the feeling of impending danger as his mother slowly turned to face him- her expression making Lily’s eyes widen.
“James Sirius Potter, you will go upstairs this minute and brush your hair, straighten your robes, and hurry your brother along or so help me I will vanish your hair so that it will no longer be an issue. Nod if you understand.”
He nodded vigorously and rushed away from her. Perhaps it was because of that war, perhaps it was leftover from losing Uncle Fred, but no one in his family had any sense of humour. He had heard from his dad and Aunt Hermione about the pranks his uncles used to incur on the family, and they were magnificent, and considering how things were now they were difficult to believe.
He did as his mother asked and soon he was stepping out of the Floo at the Burrow and into the smothering arms of his grandmother. James dutifully stood still for her, turning around when prompted, and accepted the love thrown his way before she let him go so she could greet Albus and his dad. He felt the glowing pride well up that he didn’t have to Floo with one of their parents, but rather this was the first year he could go alone.
They were the last to arrive, and there were exchanges, discussions of how everyone’s been. Uncle George even seem to be in a decent mood, looking a bit more like he did during the year rather than during Yule when it was as though he were the ghost.
“He would have loved this,” he overheard Grandmum telling Uncle Percy, audibly on the verge of tears.
Uncle Percy awkwardly patted her arm, looking quite pale. “I know, Mum.”
James sighed and glanced at the clock.
“New record,” Teddy said behind him.
James felt his face grimace. “Why can’t they just get over it? It happened ages ago. How many more holidays can they mourn him?”
Teddy’s left eyebrow raised at him. “You’d better not let any of the adults hear you say that. You can’t just get over it. What they’re doing now isn’t productive, but it’s what they feel.”
“I hate when you talk like a grown up.”
“I am a grown up.”
“Barely.”
Teddy laughed. “I’m more grown up than you are. And anyway, I was coming to help you. The coast is clear if you wanted to make your escape.”
He artfully looked around at his aunts and uncles and cousins. Teddy was right, they were all preoccupied, but he still felt the slightest bit guilty as he slipped away and sneaked up to the attic to hide until he would have to come down for dinner. He could hear the muted chatter as he went, the careful affair Yule always was.
In the attic he was safe.
He closed the door behind him and let out a long, relieved sigh. James stepped carefully around the maze of boxes stored up here and to the area he and his cousins had made as an escape and hangout. There were pillows to sit on, blankets because it got cold, and it was hidden from view of the door by the boxes. He sat down with his favorite pillow and wished he had Rose to play Gobstones with. It was no fun alone.
The problem James often found, particularly in class he’d discovered, is that he became bored rather easy. He wasn’t in the attic for long before he found himself making strange sounds with his mouth, attempting to make Gobstones interesting, and seeing how long he could hold his breath just out of curiosity.
He was rearranging the box maze when he turned sharply, somehow knocking over a heavy stack of boxes towards the back of the attic so that they opened and scattered their contents a bit. He hesitated, listening carefully even though he knew the attic had a Silencing charm on it. When he heard nothing he relaxed and started fixing the boxes, picking up what came out and judging which box it was supposed to go back into.
“What-?”
One of the items James picked up was a large, peculiarly supple ear on a string which was attached to a smaller replica of the large ear. The large ear flexed itself at his voice as if to hear him better and James heard himself out of the smaller ear. He laughed at the invention, spending the next few minutes playing with it and imagining all of the ways he could use such a thing.
“Which box did you come from,” he asked, as if rather than just being able to hear him the ear could answer as well.
He looked at the labels of the boxes. School Supplies Third Year, Confiscated from Arthur, Confiscated from Fred and George, Pictures 89-92. He first scowled at seeing Uncle Fred’s name there. Wasn’t he trying to escape him? Then he grinned at the realization the strange ear was from that very box, and he imagined- armed with the stories he’d heard of the best joke shop one could see- what other ingenious objects might be in it.
James quickly put everything else that fell out back into their respective boxes and pulled the box of contraband over to where he was sitting, feeling as though he might have won a lottery.
Only seconds later he realized it was no lottery at all. He’d, in fact, struck gold. There were all sorts of things in there, and most of them with helpful little tags in his grandmother’s hand telling him what they all were and what they did- probably so she couldn’t accidentally fall prey to them. He was pulling out Canary Creams, Nosebleed Nougats, Whizbangs, and so much more with what seemed like several drafts of an owl order sheet at the very bottom of the box. He tried everything, taking antidotes where one was provided. He wound the flying toy car. He put on Headless Hat after Headless Hat, and laughed at his reflection. There were other boxes of contraband and memories of when his uncles were young. Time went by and he found himself sitting in the middle of all of it, somewhat angry at his family.
Why couldn’t this be what they remembered?
James came down for dinner, and no one seemed to have noticed he was gone. Everyone had their person they gravitated towards on holidays. He would usually be outside with Rose, or she’d have been in the attic with him, but she’d invited her friend over for Christmas dinner, and the two of them were somewhere gossiping or whatever it was girls did. Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione usually gravitated towards one another. Sometimes Mum joined them, sometimes Uncle George. Aunt Fleur and Aunt Audrey were together a lot, usually in the kitchen with Grandmum to gossip or help out. Uncle Percy and Granddad were always talking about work. Teddy and Victoire were always running off somewhere together.
He sighed heavily and sat down between Albus and his cousin Louis, ignoring the tension that had become heavy in his absence. Grandmum was teary eyed as she and Aunt Fleur brought the food out to the table. George was obviously fighting hard, the urge to just leave no matter how early it was. Everyone else exchanged glances at one another, each silently asking someone else to say something that might alleviate this cloud hanging over them all.
This wouldn’t be necessary, he thought bitterly, if they would just stop. Couldn’t they think about the great stuff about Uncle Fred? He didn’t have to have known him to know that he was great. Genuis, mischeivous, a visionary- and all anyone here seems to be focused on is that he’s dead.
It was an uncomfortable dinner, as always. What made it worse was the effort everyone seemed to be putting into not making the dinner awkward. James ate as fast as he could without raising suspicion, wanting so much to get away from this; back to the attic where he could investigate more. He had trouble not glaring at Uncle George, who he felt should be above this considering all of the memories he must possess that led to James’ recent discovery. Of all people, should Uncle George be remembering the pranks and laughs?
James knew, even as the frustration was at full force, that he was being unfair. He hadn’t known Uncle Fred. Not even Teddy had. He knew, theoretically, that grief was one of those funny things that made no logical sense in how it progressed. He knew theoretically that ‘everyone grieves differently’. That didn’t mean he wasn’t upset nonetheless.
The idea struck him suddenly, like a bat, right between the ears. It was so sudden, and so strong, that he shrunk in on himself a little in hopes no one else noticed.
No one seemed to.
He ate dessert even faster until he was finally able to escape and go back upstairs to the attic, not for the shelter it provided as before, but rather the potential.
“Piece of candy?” He asked brightly, holding the bowl of various sweets out for his Uncle Percy.
He wrinkled his nose at the bowl, “Oh, no, thank you, James. I’ve never been terribly fond of sweets, you know.”
James’ face fell and he expertly glanced at his aunt for support and back to his uncle. “Oh, right. I just, I was so happy with how they turned out. I wanted to see what everyone thought, but it’s alright. Really.”
“Oh, Percy, loosen up a little, will you? It’s Christmas. I’ll take a piece, dear.”
He could always rely on Aunt Audrey’s heart. She took a piece, and Uncle Percy took a second, sighing as he did. James tried not to look too happy, quickly turning to Uncle Charlie. He was trying to time it right, moving as quickly as he could without raising suspicions to get as many people as possible to take a candy. He was careful not to offer to Aunt Hermione, whose baby bump had become noticeable- unsure how safe these things were. He skipped around, shoving the bowl at his grandfather, Uncle Bill, Aunt Fleur, Molly and Albus, and had barely a few seconds to find Uncle George, who was standing at the front door putting his coat on to leave.
"Uncle George?"
He sighed, shaking his coat as he put it on. He tried to smile convincingly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, hey, James, just heading out a little early. I'm not feeling too well, but I suppose that's what I can expect when I eat so much."
"Won't you just have one more?" He asked, though it sounded a bit pleading even to his own ears.
At that moment there was a scream from the other room and Uncle George's face transformed as he broke into a run and James followed. Every adult was there, half of them with their wands out in a defensive stance as if they were expecting trouble of the lethal sort. Aunt Audrey was purple, like the candy she'd taken, with wild bright pink hair that seemed to defy gravity, trying desperately to stop the bleeding pouring out of Uncle Percy’s nose. Granddad had turned blue; his skin, his fingertips, and silver was sprouting out of his head in place of his redhair. Uncle Bill was starting to sprout feathers, looking down at his hands with wide eyes and heavy brows. Wands were starting to lower, everyone looking around the room at the scene as it unfolded.
Aunt Fleur had turned to James, who was still holding the bowl of tricked treats. “James, what is this? What are those things?!”
That made his mother question him as well. “What do you mean? James, is all of this your doing?”
“I-I-”
Molly came running into the room in a panic, stopped by Grandmum, who’d put her wand back into its place in her hair. Molly had red fur sprouting out of her skin and tears starting to well up in her eyes. There was a bellow from somewhere else, obviously from Albus. Teddy and Victoire came in from outside, drawn by all of the noise, Victoire very solicitous of her dad. His aunt, uncles, and grandfather were all talking at once and then there was laughing.
Slowly, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over at Uncle George who was laughing like James had never seen him do. Hysterical, one might say. He’d heard Uncle Ron tell his dad Aunt Mione was hysterical once. Either way, Uncle George laughed as though he wasn’t quite in his right mind. It didn’t take long for the laughing to fade into crying, and soon he had collapsed to the floor holding himself and sobbing.
James felt like a prick.
He wilted immediately, feeling heavy and too warm with rapidly forming guilt. He stepped forward and put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. Uncle George turned and pulled James down with him, hugging him hard, and James could hear he was laughing again.
“Perfect,” he told him. “That was perfect.”
He let him back up, but not before taking one of the candies himself. He stood up and took the bowl from James, offering it to everyone else in the room- who seemed to be beginning to understand what was going on. Dad looked at him with more pride than James had ever before been on the receiving end of, and then he too took a piece from the bowl. The first ones who’d been affected by James’ prank were already going back to normal.
Grandmum had tears in her eyes, but they were streaming down her face yet. In fact, as people started taking more from the bowl, she looked like she was going to smile. She hugged James tightly, laughing huskily through the emotion.
“You know, we were inspired in part by you, Hermione,” Uncle George laughed, gesturing to Aunt Hermione with a round, green candy. “Your hair was rather fantastic before you tamed it, and those dolls- what did you call them?”
“Trolls,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They were Trolls, and my hair looked nothing like them, thank you very much.”
Uncle Ron scoffed. “Like Hell it wasn’t.”
“Ronald Weasley! Language!”
The amount of candy in the bowl dwindled and James explained the circumstances in which he found the pranks and confiscated items of his uncles' youth. Once he did, Uncle George went up with him, laughing and rejoicing in the old treasures he had found. He insisted on putting the rest of them to good use and everyone went outside just after sunset to watch the show.
They were the best fireworks he'd ever seen. Uncle George and Mum set all of the ones in the basement off, and then Uncle George left for ten minutes or so to get more from old storage. Everyone seemed so happy, bundled in warm clothing out in the snow watching the bursts and pinwheels dancing across the sky. Grandmum kept plying everyone with warm drinks; cider, cocoa, pumpkin juice frothing at the top.
"It almost feels like he's here again."
Uncle George stood next to him, holding a mug of cider and James would bet that cider was the only thing in it. James felt awkward, and he wasn't quite sure what to say, but he didn't have to.
"Thank you, James. This is the best Christmas I've had in twenty years; twenty years spent mourning my best friend, when I should have been celebrated the life he lived. You opened my eyes. Thank you."
James swallowed, shifting on his feet. He probably didn't realize how much he looked like his father when he did. "Happy Christmas, Uncle George."
"Happy Christmas, James."