“Merry Christmas!” “Hey, look — Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!” Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. “Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up Harry’s sweater. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.” “Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George demanded. “Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.” “I hate maroon,” Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head. “You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George observed. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid — we know we’re called Gred and Forge.” “What’s all this noise?” Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized. “P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry got one.“ “I — don’t — want —” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew. “And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said George. “Christmas is a time for family.” They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.