Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

1.

George Weasley hung up his magenta robes after locking up his shop, opened three months ago in Hogsmeade just in time for the new school year. Dennis was still in here somewhere, he realized, stretching his neck, checking supplies for the first Hogsmeade trip of the year next week or organizing the boxes in the store room.

"Dennis?" He said.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" He popped from behind the storeroom door, ink smudged on his nose and a ragged quill in one hand.

"Go home."

"I want to finish," he explained. "We have a big week next week."

"And I need you well rested."

"Sir, if you would, I just need to finish this. I think we need more skiving snack boxes. You know how much Hogwarts likes them."

"Go home, Dennis," he said and left him in the closet to climb the stairs to his apartment, stark and quiet. Grabbed a sandwich, settled onto his couch, flipped through the Daily Prophet. Puddlemere won again. Harpies were going to give them a run for their money. Dennis was still downstairs, the sound of him shuffling through boxes carrying through the vents in the old building. He was certainly worth taking on. After Verity left, George hadn't been sure if hiring another young person was the best idea, but Dennis had something about him, a dedication, a sense of business, a certain amount of care for the craft. Maybe he could start training him on replicating some of the sweets in the lab, put him on a production line. Speaking of production, he should probably check in with Ron, holding down the fort in Diagon Alley. He scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and tied it to his owl – How's it going? Looking for an update. Supplies ok? And sent it off into the cool November night. He should be due for a re-up on the populars, at least. The comm coins. The variety candy packs. The whiz bangs. He pulled a parchment across the table towards him, a new plan for weather in the bottle, more portable, although less severe. Better for kitchens and living rooms and won't ruin any furniture. Easier to smuggle into Hogwarts, too.

George nearly jumped out of his pants when his fire blazed green and Harry Potter stumbled into his living room, covered in soot and an unidentifiable sticky substance.

"Harry!" He said, getting to his feet. "What're you doing here?"

"I can't do it anymore, George, I just can't. I gave it a go, and it isn't working," Harry said, pacing back and forth, staring straight at the ground. "I did everything I could...and it just isn't enough."

"Is Ginny giving you a hard time again?" George said, reaching for the fire whiskey

"Ginny?" Harry stopped and looked up at George, his green eyes haunted, horrified. "I wish it was just Ginny."

"Then what?"

"I can't work at the shop anymore," Harry said seriously. "I had a good go and I gave it my best -"

"What're you talking about? You aren't on my payroll."

"Look, George." Harry put his hands on George's shoulders, staring him in the eye. "I quit. I'm not helping Ron run the shop anymore. Good luck."

Harry stepped back into the fireplace, still looking like he'd seen a ghost, and flooed.

3

When George stepped into the flagship Weasley Wizarding Wheezes shop in Diagon Alley, the one he and Fred started up with the uptmost care and enthusiasm, he almost puked. The shelves were empty. The sign saying closed on a Saturday, the streets full of prospective patrons, wrappers scattered on the floor, no one in sight.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" He shouted, the only reply the wind chimes and a sole Pygmy Puff, a mottled gray, squeaking in its cage. "Bloody Hell!" He kicked an empty box across the floor. The only thing he wanted to do was track down Ron and give him the old one-two, a solid broken jaw wouldn't be too bad, flat on his back. The picture of him and Fred on the wall behind the counter shook their heads at him, a smirk pulling at their lips. He disapparated.

Ronald Billius Weasley, in fact, was sitting on the couch in his flat he shared with Seamus, watching quidditch in his underwear.

"Ronald!" George shouted.

"Hiya George," Ron said. "Just in time for second half."

George flicked his wand at the TV, shutting it off.

"What're you doing? They were just about to start!"

"What am I doing?" George stepped up to Ron, staring up at him. "I'm trying to run a business! A business you were supposed to help with!"

"I am helping!" Ron said. "Now turn the match back on."

"Not until you go back to Diagon Alley and clean the shop and put more product out on a Saturday!"

"We don't have any more stock," Ron said.

"What do you mean you don't have any more stock? You are in charge of stocking. You are in charge of making sure the shop runs smoothly. You are supposed to be taking care of business!"

"I am taking care of business!"

"No you aren't!"

"Hiya George," Seamus said, shuffling itno the room in his pyjamas with a bowl of crisps.

"Both of you! In pants! Now!"

"After the game," Ron said, picking up the clicker.

"Now!"

George waited for them, the slowest men on earth, to pull on their pants and tee-shirts without mustard stains and led them to Diagon Alley, practically dragging them while they whined about the game, and tossed them into the shop. He closed the blinds and set the two of them down on stools.

"I thought you could handle this, Ron," George snarled, poking his younger brother in the chest with his finger. "I thought you were responsible enough for this."

"I don't see what the problem."

"You don't see what the problem is."

"No."

"And why's that, Ron?"

Ron and Seamus exchanged a glance and Seamus nodded.

"Come on," Ron said and made for the door leading to the laboratory, where new creations were made.

"Where are you going?"

"To show you what we've been doing," Ron said and opened the door to disappear into the dark basement. George followed him, trying to refrain from hexing the skin off his brother's back.

The lab was, in fact, in worse shape than the storefront. Empty jars lining the shelves, scattered across the floor, weird stains on every available surface, piles of cauldrons probably ruined with the gunk caked on them, and a small selection of neat creations piled on an empty chair.

"What did you do?" George said, picking up an empty vial of what should have been banana powder.

"Created!" Ron said and picked up one of his creations. "Look at this. Non-melting ice cream."

"Just don't eat it," Seamus said. "We're still working out the kinks."

"Cemented my jaw shut last week," Ron explained and put the small bowl of icecream back on the chair. "And these. Testicle spectacles." He slipped them over his face. "You can see through anyone's clothes."

"For those of us wanting a better view, eh?" Seamus said, nudging George with his elbow.

"And here are fizzie fangs," Ron said. "You eat one and you look like a vampire for twenty four hours."

"And then the Rabid Fanged Frisbees," Seamus added, picking one up gingerly. "The fun is you never know if you'll get rabies or not."

"Rabies vaccination always included, just in case," Ron added.

"Are you kidding me?" George said, kicking over the chair. "You spent six months coming up with this garbage?"

"It's product!" Ron said. "It's brilliant!"

"It's stupid."

"The icecream is stupid? This will be a best seller!"

"Let me walk you through it, Ron. You put a freezing charm on the bowl...and no melting icecream! Floresco's been doing it for years!"

"Shit," Ron said. "I thought we were on to something. But the x-ray glasses..."

"We can't sell them to teenaged boys, you nitwit! Nevermind pervy adults! Forget it!"

"And...and the rabid fanged frisbess?" Ron said. "Those're great! An added layer of risk and adventure!"

"An added lawsuit you mean! We can't give kids rabies!"

"We have an antidote," Seamus muttered.

"And we can't turn people temporarily into vampires! It'd be a national crisis to have fake vampires running all over the place! Did you learn nothing from the darkness powder? Merlin, Ronald! And you, Seamus, I expected more from you."

"Okay, mum," Ronald said.

"Clean this place up! Ship shape by tomorrow or else!"

"Or else what?" Ron said.

"I know how much you like spiders, Ronnie kins," George said before turning on his heels and marching right up stairs, through the door onto the street, and into the Leaky Cauldron. He never should have trusted Ron. Hadn't Hermione tried to warm him?

"Firewhiskey," he said.

"It's ten in the morning, George," Tom, the bartender, said.

"Mix it with some tonic, then," George said and got his drink. Hermione had said he wasn't ready, that he was still immature. George had chalked that up to her not getting the proposal she wanted. Evidently there was more truth than jealousy in it. He downed the whiskey tonic. Tom put another one in front of him before he could ask.

"George Weasley?" a familiar voice said as a familiar body, lean and strong, slid next to him at the bar.

"Angelina Johnson," he said and tipped his glass towards her. "What're you doing back in London?"

"I could ask the same about you," she said, ordering a plate of eggs and coffee. "And why you're drinking so early."

She seemed familiar as always, George thought, sipping his tonic, just as strong as always. And that hair. He swallowed and shifted on the stool.

"I let Ron take over the Diagon Alley shop," he said and Angelina laughed, bright and brass.

"Ron?" she said. "Ron, the one who didn't realize he had to pay his rent monthly? The one who nearly drove his first car off a cliff because he thought it would fly? Ron the one who cried every time someone mentions a spider? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Don't remind me," George said and drained his cup. "But the question still remains what you're doing here."

"The whole quidditch thing just isn't working out," she said, cutting into her eggs.

"And why's that? Word was you were on your way up."

"I wasn't picked back up," she said. "When my contract ended. I opted out. Too much politics for me. I mean, it's just a game, right?"

"You were passed over?" George offered.

"I prefer freed from the tyrrany of professional quidditch," she said.

"So what are you going to do with your newfound freedom?"

"Eat whatever I want, do whatever I want, and find a job," Angelina said. "You don't know of anything, do you?"

"Do you still know the recipes for the skiving snackboxes?"

"A little rusty," she admitted.

"Well, we need to restock the entire Diagon Alley shop. You in?"

"Hell yeah, I'm in."

3

George was pleased when he saw Ron, Seamus, and Dennis haul supplies into the lab at Diagon Alley. Ron looked particularly downtrodden, as if George had severely embarrassed and humiliated him, but Ron had embarrassed and humiliated George by running the shop into the ground, so he deserved it. Ron and Seamus would start in on the sweets, a specialty of Ron's even if he denied it, while George and Dennis started workong on the Wonder Witch line. Angelina would be in later to start on the joke products, a familiar role for her. Dennis had the cauldron going before George could even get down the stairs and had wipped together the first batch of love potion. George sat at the table and started making the charms, little hearts holding a fantastic daydream.

"Hello?"

Hermione. George dropped his wand.

"What is she doing here?" George hissed at Ron.

"I don't know," he said and climbed up the stairs, leaving his potion simmering.

George couldn't make out what they said, and he didn't want to, to be honest. Some people grew on him over time, he knew, but Hermione was not one of them. If anything, he couldn't stand her at all anymore, shuddering every time he had to hold a conversation with her. He swallowed and started dropping completed charms into small bags printed with hints as to the treats their daydreams contain.

"She wants to talk to you," Ron said, coming back down the stairs.

"Me?" George nearly choked. "What does she want with me?"

"Dunno,"Ron said, resuming his position at his cauldron.

"Better go see her," Seamus said. "I've seen her go full on harpy when she doesn't get her way."

George rolled his shoulders and braved the stairs. Hermione was sitting on the counter, arms crossed, staring at the empty shop.

"You wanted to talk?" George said, shutting the door securely behind him.

"Ah, yes." Hermione slipped off the counter. "You've been rude to Ron."

"Rude? To Ron?"

"Yes."

"Excuse me? Have you seen this place? And he's cleaned it up!" George motioned to the empty shelves and displays, the pigmy puff food still spilling in one corner, the wires hanging from the wall intending to hold large vats of products.

"Well, you know, I told you it wouldn't end well, so that's no excuse," Hermione said, surveying the scene. "Although it is pretty ghastly, I must admit. But that isn't the point."

"Then what is the point? That he's been fooling around for the past six months when I thought everything was running smoothly?"

"Everything had been running smoothly," Hermione said. "Until Harry up and left, refused to help ."

"Harry was never on the payroll! I was paying Ron! And for what? For him to come up with ridiculously inappropriate joke products? He was supposed to maintain production quality and quantity, not go awol."

"It's not that bad, George," Hermione said.

"None of what he did was marketable," George insisted.

"Ice cream that cements your jaw shut? Please. That's classic," Hermione said, and when she said it like that, George almost agreed. "And those glasses are fine. You have an entire line devoted to appeasing young witches. Why not have one aimed at young wizards?" She did have a point.

"And the rabid fanged frisbees?" George said, expecting some retort that made him reconsider.

"Well, as we both know, that's just irresponsible," Hermione said.

"Glad we agree."

"As do I," Hermione said. "So we'll see about you going easier on Ron?"

"We'll see."

"I do hope you will at least apologize."

"I have work to do," George said. "Fixing your boyfriend's mistakes. So if you'll excuse me."

"Hmph. I suppose so," Hermione said. "I'll be in touch."

Angelina came in as Hermione was heading out, not much more than a courtesy nod and polite word between them.

"Still has a stick up her arse?" Angelina asked, taking her coat off to reveal a simple v-neck tee-shirt and pair of jeans, both form fitting showing her generous curves a mixture of genetics and hours spent on a broomstick.

"More like a tree these days," George said. "Wants me to sell the testicle spectacles, as a companion to the Wonder Witch line."

"Hmmm," Angelina said, hanging her coat in the closet behind the front desk. "Not a bad idea."

"Not a bad idea?" George raised an eyebrow at her.

"A line for pervy teenagers? You could make a fortune. Think about how many Gryffindors would buy glasses to let them see boobs. Just put a twist on it," Angelina said, following him down the stairs.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Play a joke on them."

Over the course of the next four days, where they all pulled fourteen or so hours in the lab restocking the Diagon Alley shop, both of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes closed due to "unforseen circumstances," George nearly murdered Ron four times, Seamus three, and thanked Merlin for Dennis and Angelina. The boy made all the potions, each and every one, perfectly and bottled them with ease, a professionalism that Ron seriously lacked, even in the wee hours of the morning. And Angelina. Once she had made a suitable ammount of joke products to fill the displays, she had overseen Seamus putting together the fireworks, saving the shop from explosion on three distinct occasions, and set up all the displays upstairs, and picked up whatever slack Ron left behind, berating him as she went.

"Let me take you out to dinner," he said once she put the last of the pigmy puffs Dennis brought back from the Hogsmeade shop in the tank. "To thank you."

"You want to take me out to dinner?" She nearly laughed, settling the mesh grate on the top of the glass box and fastening it with a quick spell.

"Consider it a business engagement," he said, walking with her to the front door. "I have a proposition for you. What's your schedule look like?"

"Wide open."

"Tomorrow, then." George opened the door for her into the cool night air. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"You'll pick me up?" Angelina said, sliding past him. "That sounds awefully like a date, George Weasley."

"Have a good night, Angelina Johnson."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The truth of the matter was that George wasn't sure if he had asked Angelina out on a date. He did, in fact, have a business proposition for her, one he and Fred had talked about exhaustively in the months leading up to the final battle. They needed reliable partners, reliable individuals involved in the daily machinations of the business. Angelina's name had come up on more than one occasion. Partly, George felt, because she and Fred had had their fling, but also because she was a brilliant witch, brilliant enough to match their brilliance, at least, which was exactly what they needed. Exactly what he needed, now, with the second shop and Ron running wild and Hermione pushing for a new product line. Harry backed her up, too, which was probably the worst part. I'll invest the capital, he said, I'll take the financial burden. What a little punk. All his money went straight to his head. He needed her for business. But he couldn't deny he always envied her and Fred's relationship, their intimacy, their ease with each other, an ease he sometimes thought he shared with her, but that he convinced himself he had imagined. No, this was a business affair. He put on his sports coat, his slacks, his nice shoes, ironed his shirt. Pure business. Dabbed cologne behind his ears, tied his shoes. That was all.

Angelina was slipping on earrings when he arrived at her flat, blue dress swinging above her knee, white heels accenting her calves. George cleared his throat and waited for her by her door, hands tucked into his pockets.

"So you're taking me to a classy joint?" she said, shrugging into a wool jacket.

"I run a very successful business, you know," George said, offering his arm, which she took with no reservation.

"I keep forgetting you're not the piss poor jokester you were a few years ago," Angelina said as they stepped onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

"You seem to be doing well for yourself, you know, considering your flat. Nice floors."

"I'm staying with Katie," Angelina said. "Until I can find my own."

"Better than Dean, I suppose," George said, directing her down towards the stylish side of town.

"No, not really," she said. "I mean, I'm grateful and everything, don't get me wrong, but Katie's just…she's just too much for me these days."

"Too much for you?" George laughed, moving to cross the street.

"It's always do the dishes, clean up the socks, wipe down the counter. I swear she was never like that in school."

"Are you admitting to being a slob, Angelina?"

"I'm admitting to being permissible of a certain amount of reasonable clutter and leisure, George. Not slovenliness. You'd think I was a terror the way you go on about me."

"Not true at all."

"You're bringing me to Wilson's?" Angelina said as they stepped across the threshold into a warm, red room, candles lining the walls and menus scrawled across rich parchment.

"I like their table clothes," George said, motioning to the white fabric shimmering in the candlelight.

"You would come to a posh restaurant for the table clothes."

"Their salmon isn't too bad, either."

The Maitre D seated them immediately, muttering welcomes to the esteemed Mr. Weasley and his guest.

"We'll have the usual wine," George said to the Sommelier when he came over, nodding his head and smiling mildly.

"And if I don't like wine?" Angelina said, smoothing the napkin over her skirt.

"You'll like this wine." George followed suit with his napkin and placed the order for first course without the menu, shrimp and calamari rolled in a rich butter sauce.

"And if I don't like seafood?" Angelina asked, mildly looking up from the menu.

"You'll like this seafood."

"Are you going to order my meal for me, too?" The sommelier poured two glasses of a crisp white wine.

"No."

"Well, what are you having?" 

"The swordfish, of course." George sipped his wine and found it perfect for the evening, not too sweet, not too dry, and not too warm. "Everything here is good, though."

"How about the lobster?"

"If you wanted. Seafood is their specialty."

"And their chicken?"

"Excellent."

"Steak?"

"Are you going to ask me about everything on the menu?"

Angelina shrugged and put the menu down.

"Order for me," she said. "Everything sounds good."

George did as he was bid, lemon herb chicken for her, spicy tuna for him. Angelina did, in fact, like the wine and the seafood, surprise taking over her face for a delightful moment at first taste, as vibrant a smile as ever.

"This seems awfully like a date, George," Angelina said.

"I'm not the one who wore the heels."

"I'm not the one who picked the restaurant."

"Hey, I just like the table clothes."

"So this is a date."

"I didn't say that." George took a sip of wine. "This is about business."

"And what sort of business is that?"

"I want you to come on," George said. "As manager and project coordinator." 

"Manager and project coordinator?" A smirk pulled at Angelina's lips. "And what, exactly, would that entail?"

"Simply put, you'd be in charge of the Diagon Alley shop and overseeing the development of a line of product designed for, as you put it, pervy teenaged boys."

"Well, I do consider pervy teenaged boys to be a specialty of mine."

"That sounds a little dirty, you know."

Angelina shrugged. George ordered dessert, cheesecake and chocolate mousse pie.

"We need to talk logistics, you know," Angelina said, twirling whipped cream around her fork.

"What kind of logistics?"

"Well, it all sounds good in vague terms," she said. "But exactly does it mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"Let's start with manager." She scooped the dollop of whipped cream into her mouth, clearly savoring the sweets. Some things never changed, George supposed, like Angelina's sweet tooth.

"Well, I think you know what manager of the shop would be. Responsible for staffing, stocking, and accounting. Balancing books, product, and troubleshooting any issues. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"How much independence?"

"Independence?"

"How much oversight are you going to have? How much of your dirty little fingers are going to be scooping the filling out of my pie?"

"Excuse me? Don't forget whose name is on those signs. It isn't Johnson's Wizarding Wheezes."

Angelina laughed, leaving George tongue tied.

"Look, George, I know you're only asking me because you think I'm capable. But I don't want you breathing down my neck if you give me the reigns to Diagon Alley, you see? And I know you've had quite a shock with Ron going bananas over there, so I'm not sure how trusting you are right now. That's all. I just want to know what I'm in for."

"Weekly check ins. Over lunch," George said. "We need open communication between us. Is that too much to ask?"

"And over project coordination?"

"I need new product. I like the idea of a line for pervy boys, but I don't want Ron anywhere near it, and I'm busy enough overseeing production and the Diagon Alley shop."

"Again, weekly check ins?"

"I would presume so."

"And what about compensation."

"Six thousand galleons annually to start, issued bi-weekly in installments."

"For both positions?"

"Not including bonuses and incentives." George swirled his wine once. "And of course you would have use of the living quarters above the Diagon Alley shop, which I assume you would be eager to inhabit as soon as possible."

"Ah, George Weasley," Angelina said, her tone low and teasing. "You know me all too well, I'm afraid."

"So I take that as a yes?"

"Of course. I can't pass it up."

"Excellent. I will oversee your first few weeks, but I expect them to run smoothly. I can lend you Dennis until you're able to hire your own help."

"I won't need him. He should stay in the Hogsmeade shop and hold down the fort."

"We'll see."

"And when can I move upstairs?"

"Give me a week."

3

Once George had entered the apartment quarters above the Diagon Alley shop, Ron slumped at the desk below him and Dennis bustling around the Hogsmeade shop, George had wished he had asked for two weeks to prepare everything for Angelina. No one had been up there in years. Dust everywhere, furniture in need of a good scrub, windows needing to be polished, dust everywhere. Someone (Ron, George suspected) had clogged the toilet and hadn't bothered to fix it. Water rings in the bath tub. And the boxes. Boxes of stuff he had left there, packed up hoping someone else would take care of them, but of course they wouldn't, and now he was left with them. Some of them full of linens and household goods that needed to be wiped down. Others full of memorabilia he hadn't wanted to take with him but couldn't get rid of. He kicked an empty bottle of firewhiskey across the floor. There was only one person he thought of up to the task and apparated to the burrow.

"Mum!" he shouted, stepping over Ginny's dog sleeping on the welcome mat, a raggedy mutt she insisted on taking in before dumping the sorry thing with their mum before heading off to the continent for quidditch training. "Mum!"

"George!" Mum shouted back, bustling in from the back garden, covered in dirt. "What're you doing here?"

"Just popping in, is all," George said and consent to a big squeeze and wet kiss on the cheek.

"That's sweet of you, but I don't believe a word of it! Here, sit, I'll fix you a sandwich."

"I'm not hungry, mum."

"You're thin as a rail. How's the business going?"

George consented to the seat as his mum started pulling lunch meat and sandwich fixings from the refrigerator.

"I heard Ron made a mess of things." She cut some bread from a loaf on the windowsill.

"He did."

"And you've fixed it up?"

"Well enough," George said. "I've hired Angelina to run the Diagon Alley shop."

"Oh! Angelina's back in England! We must have her over for the next family dinner," she said, more excited for her than any of her blood relatives, George thought. "Do you think she likes pot roast?"

"I think she likes anything you cook, mum."

She slid the massive sandwich in front of him.

"Eat up," she said. He took a tentative bite. "So what _are_ you doing back here, Georgie?"

"Like I said –"

"The only one who comes to say hi is Percy, so don't try and fool me."

"A part of the deal for Angelina was for her to have the quarters above the Diagon Alley shop."

"Which, I'm assuming, is a right mess?"

"Right."

"So you've come here to see if I could come and help?"

"Right."

She sighed, as if she just suffered a great disappointment, and the mutt trotted into the room, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"And here I was, thinking you just wanted to see me. It's been so long, George, you know. And I'm here alone."

"Dad's here."

"Dad's off with Shacklebolt again doing Merlin knows what."

He took another bite of sandwich.

"I'll tell you what, George," she said, sitting across from him. "I'll clean out the apartment if you do something for me."

"What?"

"Sunday dinner every week for three months," she said.

"I have a lot to do around the shop –"

"Do you want the help or not?"

George wiped mustard off his fingers. "Ok."

"And you take the dog."

"Ginny's dog?"

"Yes, Ginny's dog, what other dog do you think I'm talking about?"

George looked over at the mutt, one eye droopy and losing a spot of hair on his bum.

"His name's Jeff. He's very well behaved."

"Very bedraggled."

"Just needs a little love."

"Two months of dinners and I'll take the dog."

"Deal." They shook hands over the table. "So when do you need it done by?"

George's mum had the place ship shape in one afternoon, everything spotless and in its place. She had moved the boxes to a spare closet, spread linens on the bed, got the dust out of everything, wand in hand. George walked into the rooms and thought she had bought all new furniture and accompanying drapes.

"What is this?" he said, Jeff following after him.

"I cleaned the place," she said, now, if you'll excuse me, your father should be home soon. I'll be seeing you _and_ Angelina Sunday?"

"Yeah," George said. "I'll have to ask her, first, though."

"Very good." She kissed him on the cheek. "I left the dog food, bed, and treats with Ron downstairs."

"Thanks, mum."

"Any time." She tentatively stepped around Jeff on her way downstairs to say goodbye to Ron.

3

"What's she doing here?" Ron demanded the first day Angelina was on the job.

"What do you mean what's she doing here, nitwit?" George demanded, taking out a measuring tape to get her robes properly hemmed.

"I mean, why's she in my shop."

"It's my shop, now," Angelina said casually, stretching her arms for George to measure. "Or did you forget you almost ran the shop into bankruptcy?"

"We weren't bankrupt!" Ron said, jumping over the counter to interrupt them.

"Not yet, anyways," Seamus said from the supply closet.

"Seamus, you're staying here," George said. "Ron, you're going to Hogsmeade."

"I don't want to go to Hogsmeade!"

"Ronald!"

"I could use his help," Angelina said quietly.

"What?" Both brothers nearly jumped at her admission.

"To produce the product line we were talking about?" 

"What product line?" Ron said, eagerly appealing to the two of them.

"George?"

"Fine," George snapped, taking down the last of the measurements. "But I swear, Angelina, if this backfires –"

"Who better to produce a line for teenaged boys?"

"A line for boys!" Ron reached into his back pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment. "I've been working on this for years! Boxer liners to make your farts smell funny, eye drops to invert colors, fake bugs to put in your mum's cooking –"

"Not that kind of line, Ron," George said, snatching the paper out of his hand. "I'll look this over, though, if that makes you happy."

"Fine," Ron said. "Then what kind of line?"

"I want to settle in here, first," Angelina said. "Before beginning development."

Ron sighed and slumped back to the desk. "So I have to put up with you all the time?"

"Don't lean on the counter, Ron," Angelina said, flipping the sign to open. "We must be professional."

George smirked as Ron rolled his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Three months in, Angelina had tripled profits from the Diagon Alley shop and come up with a complete line of products aimed at teenaged boys that would be able to be unrolled in full by the beginning of the next school year. Initial tests had proved the products of Willie's Wizards, as she and Ron determined to call it, to foster both brand loyalty and return customers.

"The way it works," she explained, "Is that each of the twelve products comes with collectible buttons, sort of like badges, that show the buyer's commitment."

The buttons held slogans that insulted the wearer's sexuality and virility. Horny masturbator was a favorite, as was goody little no balls.

"Ron came up with them," Angelina said. "I don't get most of them, to be honest, but Dennis seems to think they'll work. Actually, Dennis came up with a clothing line idea, too. His tapestry is genius. Buy it, put your pins on it, and they'll spell out achievement levels. Horn dog, bush pubes, Herp monster. The more pins, the more achievements."

"How are we going to market these things?" George said, looking at the list: Testicle Spectacles, Extendable Eyeballs, Semen Assistance Handler, Expandable Underpants, Willie's Cologne, Engorgement Potions, Willie's Practice Poster, Romance Candles, Squeezing Condoms, Soothing Ointment, Mood Flowers, and the Moodman Neck Charm. "We can't put them out in the store."

"A clubhouse," Angelina explained over burgers at the Leaky Cauldron. "Guarded by Willie the Wizard himself."

"And who, exactly, is going to be Willie the Wizard?"

"Seamus, of course. He found a decent aging potion that will make him look one hundred and fifty, an old knotted man that is a perv to the core." Angelina took a bite out of her sandwich. Since leaving quidditch, George noticed, she had softened some, but not enough to hide her inherent athleticism.

"And parents are going to be ok with this?"

"All of them play a prank on the buyer," she said. "Except the soothing ointments. Try to get frisky with the practice poster, and a representation of Willie will come out and show his stuff. Romance candles smell like rotting flesh. Testicle Spectacles make all tits sag and all bums look bloated, making your dick look small by comparison to everyone else's. Extendable eyeballs are hyper sensitive to moisture. The Semen Assistance Handler temporarily renders your floppy. The mood flowers have bees that sting you when your thoughts are impure. The cologne's scents vary from dirty willie's sweat to Willie's semen. I mean, really, they're all just novelty items."

"And they keep buying them for the pins."

"And Dennis was talking about a quarterly newsletter, writing by Willie, discussing his exploits. Sign-up only, though."

In truth, he didn't mind her softness at all. Made her look more like a woman and less like a teenager, full in all the right spots, if he were being honest.

"We're going to have to drum up serious support for this," he said.

"We can start sampling in Hogsmeade the next trip," she explained. "We have enough practice posters and testicle spectacles to start the buzz."

"We need a third," George said. "To round out the roll out. And Seamus can have his Willie costume ready?"

"He was born ready."

"Good," George said. "I'm extremely impressed."

"Well I would hope so, considering how miserable Ron is."

"He'll grow up."

"He told me he was going back to the order."

"He said he was going to do that from the beginning," George said, smothering his French fries in mayo.

"Well, I'll need another hand around the shop, if Seamus is going to take on the guise of Willie, and if he really is going on."

"You know you have my permission to hire whoever you want," George said. "You've tripled profits and designed a whole new line in three months. You're taking this seriously."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," George said. "But this calls for one of those incentives I promised you."

"Incentives, eh?"

"Can you be in Hogsmeade by seven tonight?"

"Formal wear, I presume?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll be there."

3

George had to remind himself three times that afternoon that this was not a date. Even after he had bought flowers (they were beautiful, he really couldn't control himself), showered, shaved, and put on a new cologne (a free sample). He put a on a tie, something he hadn't done in years, debated on the vest, but settled on the jacket. Everything neat and without wrinkles, not that that was an accomplishment for him. Even his jeans, these days, were ironed. He could use a haircut, though. He couldn't get it to sit right. Not even the gel Ron told him to get helped.

"George!" Dennis shouted up the stairs. "Angie's here!"

George snatched the flowers and practically jumped down the stairs.

"Hello," he said, still fiddling with his hair. She was wearing a bright red dress, slightly below knee length, same wool coat buttoned tight around her chin. He offered the flowers. "For you."

"For me?" She took them and smiled. "I thought this was a business affair."

"A business owner cannot reward his star manager with a gift?" George smiled back. "if that's the case, this is going to be a very bad evening indeed."

"Why? Are there other surprises for me?"

"Too early to tell. Dennis, can you put these in water for when we come back?"

"You think I'll come back?" Angelina took his arm, as was customary, and he walked her out.

"For your flowers? Absolutely. Plus I have a surprise for you."

"You see, when you said incentives, I thought cash," Angelina said, stepping over an ice patch.

"Trust me," George said. "You'll like it."

"So where are we going?"

"Oak and Hammer, an upscale pub," George said.

"Is it new?"

"Been here for years."

The pub was lodged in a residential section of Hogsmeade, near a convenience store spouting flavor-changing tobacco and widest wine selection in a mile radius.

"That's wrong, by the way," George said, motioning towards the sign. "There's a liquor store over the corner there that has the widest wine selection."

"And why would you know that?"

"Why wouldn't I know that?"

The Oak and Hammer did not have tablecloths, just wood tables set with lavish table settings, simple and smelling like rich sandalwood.

"Is that a new dress?" George asked, taking the coat, trying not to admire her cleavage. "What happened to the old one?"

"Felt like I needed something new," she said, settling into the chair. "I'd had that one since Hogwarts, believe it or not."

"Well, I like the red better," George admitted, looking over the wine list. "I'm thinking a burgundy. Do you have a thought?"

"A burgundy what?" Angelina surveyed the limited menu. Simple, straight forward, rustic.

"Nevermind, then."

George placed the request for the burgundy as the waiter placed a bread basket in front of them.

"Freshly baked," George said and took the first roll.

"Smells delicious."

"It is."

"So why did you bring me here?" Angelina leaned over the table, brown eyes shining in the dim candle light.

"For dinner, of course," George said, mouth half full of bread. "And they have the best wine list."

"They don't have table cloths, though."

"That's not a prerequisite."

"You bought me flowers."

"And an incentive."

"A gift, you mean."

George nodded to the waiter to pour two glasses of wine.

"George," Angelina said, her voice low.

"This is a celebration." George raised his glass. "A celebration of three months hard work paying off. A celebration of fantastic collaboration that has turned out greater than I could have imagined. A celebration looking forward to our future. In business."

Angelina smirked and raised her glass, too, glasses coming together.

"I just don't want you getting any ideas," Angelina said and sipped her wine.

"No ideas," George said. "I am not Old Wizard Willie." He tapped his temple dramatically. "Only business ideas through here, I assure you."

George found it very difficult to have wandering eyes through dinner. The steak was good, though, which helped, cooked perfectly, as were the green beans and potatoes.

"This is so rich," Angelina said, picking at her chicken and roasted squash.

"Bring it home," George said. "You can give it to Jeff, if you want, but I think that would be waste. A better late night snack, probably."

"It's so good, though. George, I hate you."

"Why do you hate me?" He leaned back from his empty plate, fingering the dessert menu idly. "I was thinking pie for dessert, what do you think?"

"I'm thinking I ate too much already."

"You barely touched your squash." George ordered pie for the both of them. "Give it to Jeff if you don't like it."

"That dog is going to die if you keep feeding it," Angelina said, indulging in the pie.

"I have a question for you," George said, finishing his wine.

"And what's that?" Angelina licked some pie filling off her finger.

"Do you miss quidditch?"

"Excuse me?"

"Quidditch," he said. "Do you miss it?"

"Why are you asking?" She put her fork down and picked up her wine glass.

"I'm wondering if you're going to try and leave," he said. "Because then I'm screwed. At least until Dennis is a little older. Maybe a couple years. Can you give me that?"

"As much as I hate to admit it," Angelina said. "My quidditch days are over. And I owe a great debt to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. If I have to be here, I'd like to be doing this."

"Because of Fred."

Angelina looked away from him, staring at the far wall.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That wasn't right. I just meant –"

"It's because of you," she said. "George."

George reached to pull money from his pocket.

"George."

"What is it?"

"I mean it, you know. That I'm here because it's an honor to work with you," Angelina said. "That I wouldn't want to work for anyone else or for anything else. What you two started…what you've created and sustained here, after everything we've gone through…I need you to know I mean it."

George set the money on the table, severe and quiet.

"I know," he said. "But we do have to get going."

Angelina took his arm again on their way back to the shop.

"I shouldn't have eaten so much," she groaned, sitting on one of the stools.

"Oh, please," George said, tossing a bottle of tonic to her. "That'll help." She took a swig, grimacing.

"I suppose," she said, setting it back down on the table. "Is that product?"

"Just a trick Ron keeps around," he said and stashed it back in the drawer. "So you're ready?" 

"Ready for what?"

"Your incentive, of course."

"My gift, you mean," she said, cupping one of the flowers Dennis had put in a vase on the counter.

"Incentive," he said, taking off his jacket. "Now close your eyes."

"Do I have to?"

"Of course you have to," George said, slipping into the supply closet and turning on the light. "Are they closed?"

"Yes."

George put his hands on her incentive, a top of the line broomstick Alicia said she hadn't gotten her hands on yet, wrapped tightly in a traveling case.

"Ok," he said, putting the broomstick on the counter. "Open them."

Angelina was confused, at first, unsure of what she should do.

"Go ahead," he prodded, smiling. "Open it."

When she did, any doubt that she would like it slipped away from George. She flipped open the case and just stared at it, mouth open, eyes wide. She ran her hand over the broomstick, admiring the curves, the woodwork, the aerodynamics of the new RedHook broom, top of the line, a racing broom for the fastest. She took in her hands, weighing the balance, evaluating the straw.

"What do you think?" he said after fifteen minutes of her inspecting every inch. "I can give you my old Nimbus, if you'd rather –"

"No," she said, smiling at him, making his own lips curl, holding the broom close to her chest. "I love it. How did you get it? It's not supposed to be commercial for three more months."

"Wood," George said.

"Of course Wood."

"You want to take it for a spin? Let me get my Nimbus and we can head out."

"A Nimbus?" Angelina laughed – genuinely laughed – at George. "You're not going to be able to keep up with a Nimbus!"

"Well, then I'll watch." George crossed his arms as she stood up and took the broom out of the case.

"No," she said. "It's plenty big for both of us. Let's see how fast this can go."

"Alright, but I'm not riding tail," George said and followed her outside.

"And what do I get for riding tail?" she said.

"I won't put my hand on your thigh?" he said, shrugging.

"Ugh, fine," she said, and handed him the broomstick. He got on first, and she sat sideways, draping herself over it.

"Just hold on," he said.

In truth, the broomstick had excellent handling, balance, mobility, and sturdier than previous broomsticks used for professional quidditch. A beater or a seeker could use the same model with no adjustments needed. A genius brand. Angelina had her arms around his waist, her body pressed against his. For awhile, they cruised above the rooftops of Hogsmeade, snow still glistening in the moonlight glazing the shingles.

"Faster!" she shouted in his ear. "This is pedestrian. Do some loops or something, will you?"

"You're going to fall off," he said.

"Pfft. Do it, limp dick."

"What did you just call me?"

"Just do it!"

He tightened his grip on the broom handle and sped off towards the shrieking shack, the houses beneath blurring to dull colors. He turned sharply and Angelina barely moved against his back, did it again, and she just tightened her grip.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

He spun them backwards, back towards town, the wind pressed tight against his cheek, Angelina shouting behind him, any words lost in the roar of the air.

"That was amazing!" She shouted when they touched down, her hair a mess, her make-up smeared, and dress askew. "Absolutely stunning!" She threw her arms around George, hugging him tightly. "Thank you!"

"Would you like some tea?" His ears were still ringing.

"Absolutely," she said. "It's freezing out here."

Upstairs, he gave her a change of clothes that were too big for her – an old sweatshirt and pair of jogging pants. She didn't complain, just hung up her dress, washed her face, and sat on the couch watching recap of the quidditch match from that afternoon.

"Firewhiskey?" he said, putting down the bottle with the tea cups. He poured a hearty amount in his cup.

"Why not? We are celebrating, after all."

"After all." They each took a swig from the bottle, then another.

"I can't believe they lost," Angelina groaned, throwing herself back on the couch. "What do you think, George?" She looked at him, wearing his slacks and undershirt, shoes kicked off by the door.

"I think they're idiots." Another pass of the firewhiskey. "For the Cannons to take them – pitiful."

"Thank you." She drank the tea in three gulps and refilled her cup with firewhiskey. "I'm glad I'm not playing anymore. Stupid. The whole lot of them."

"You're talent is wasted in quidditch," he said. "Absolutely wasted. You're a genius."

"You're funny."

"It's true. Even at Hogwarts, we thought so. We wanted you on our staff from the moment we opened. It's a dream come true to have you."

"Don't, George."

"I'm being absolutely genuine."

"Absolutely?"

"Absolutely."

They watched three consecutive commercials for wizarding cleaning products, Bertie Botts, and a new brand of honey mead.

"Come on," Angelina said, standing up and taking off her shirt. George stared at her standing half naked in his living room.

"What?"

"Take your shirt off, let's go." She lost the jogging pants at the doorway to the bedroom, disappearing behind the door.

"What are you doing?" He followed her into the room.

"Let's have sex," she said, naked, tugging at his belt.

"What?"

"Just once," she said and planted her lips on his, sweet and tasting of firewhiskey and pie. "Come on."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Just once?"

"Just once," she moaned. He struggled to swallow. She dropped his pants.

"It won't change anything."

"Nothing," she whispered and dragged him into bed.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"George," Bill said, picking his teeth as they all stood in the Diagon Alley shop, staring at the Willie's Wizards clubhouse Ron and Seamus had cobbled together with a combination of nails and magic, looking like something out of a horror show. "I can't tell if this is the worst idea known to man, or the best."

"Go inside," George said from the counter, still working on his sandwich Angelina had brought from the Leaky Cauldron. "It's better inside."

"Better?" Bill raised an eyebrow and bowed through the low doorway. "Merlin's tits!"

"I know, right?" Angelina said, coming from the supply closet with a bin of skiving snackboxes. "Seamus did a great job on the interior."

"It's huge!" Bill came out, looking like he'd gone to the holy land.

"He charmed it," George said, shrugging.

"And he's going to guard it in costume?" Bill said.

"Yep, under the guise of pervy elderly wizard," George explained.

"I wish these products were around when we were in school," Bill said. "Charlie would've had them all."

"He did have a bit of perv in him, huh?" George said. Angelina leaned against the counter next to him.

"I think it was a cover up," Bill said. "For the whole gay thing."

"I think he's just a horn dog," George said.

"So where's Ron and Seamus?"

"Gave them the day," Angelina said, picking a loose pickle from George's plate. "I guess they've been working pretty hard."

"Well, they did do most of the production for the new line," George said.

"I suppose they deserved it," Angelina said.

"Do you want the rest of my pickles?" George opened his sandwich and picked them off, Angelina agreeing to take them off his hands.

"So you really don't need help with anything?" Bill said, surveying the fully stocked shelves ready for the late-summer rush.

"Nope," George said. "It's been pretty quiet so far this summer."

"Are sales low?"

"No," Angelina said. "Mostly just in waves."

"Which is normal," George said. "People come, stock up, don't come back for a few months. Coincides with the school schedule, you know?"

Bill shrugged. "And here I was hoping for an afternoon away."

"The wife riding you hard?" George said, offering another rogue pickle to Angelina.

"Hands are just full with the girls, you know? The two of them are just endless."

"At least mum's happy," George said.

"She's already on about another," Bill said, settling onto a stool. "You don't have forever, Bill. Take advantage while you're young. Once your career is set, you won't want to have any more. My career already is set, mum, and our hands are literally full of diapers. Literally full."

"Miserable," George added.

"So when are you two going to put a ring on it?" Bill said.

"Excuse me?" Angelina looked like she was going to punch him.

"We aren't together, Bill," George said.

"So you're seeing other people?" Bill asked, stealing a french fry with a slap on the wrist from George. "Fucking other people?"

"That's none of your business," George said.

"Fine, whatever." Bill stood up, stretching his back. "Can I have one of those snackboxes? And where's Jeff, anyway? Ginny's going to be wanting him back when she comes home."

"She's coming back?" George said. "Thank Merlin. That dog is driving me up a wall."

"Why? I think he's cute," Angelina said. "A little rough around the edges, but still adorable."

"Then he can ship out to the Hogsmeade shop," George said. "Do you want him? I thought not."

"He isn't that much of a burden, George."

"Enough that he's a hassel."

"What would you do without him? Be bored and lonely, that's what."

"I have Dennis. I'm not lonely."

"Okay, George. That's why you're always over here checking up on everyone."

"I think he's just checking up on you," Bill added.

"When's Ginny going to be back?" George asked.

"End of the month? Beginning of next? She's been vague."

"What else is new?" George folded the rest of his meal in the wrapping and tossed it in the trash. "She'll probably come back with new arm candy, a new haircut, and a new job proposition to debate."

"As usual," Bill said. "She's being courted by the Cannons, believe it or not."

"Ron's gonna be pleased."

"Alright." Bill grabbed a couple of snack boxes and shoved them in his pockets. "I've got to get going. I'll see you guys Sunday?"

"I would hope so."

3

George made sure he dressed clean for Sunday dinner. Rumor was Charlie was going to be there, but no promises, his mum had said, but he could tell by her voice she was going to be distraught if he didn't make it. He picked up flowers before meeting Angelina at Diagon Alley, the two of them intending to go over together, but when he got there, she wasn't ready.

"What's the hold up?" he said. She seemed like she was ready to go. Shoes on, shirt neat, pants fastened.

"I just…I have to call my dad," she said, sounding nervous.

"Your dad."

"He's having a rough spot. I'll meet you over there. I promise. I'll be there. Tell your mum."

"Ok. Is everything ok?"

"Everything'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Do you want me to wait?"

"No. Absolutely not. Your mum's probably already in a tizzy over Charlie."

"Ok. I'll see you there, then."

It wasn't that Angelina always came to Sunday dinners, but she came frequently enough that his mum always asked when she wasn't there.

"She said she'd be here," he said. "Probably any minute. She just had to call her dad."

"Oh, ok, then," his mum said, taking the flowers and kissing him on the cheek. "Charlie's in the other room. On medical leave, though, so no talk of his burns."

Charlie, in fact, had been burned all up and down his left arm, shoulder, and back, his entire hand in a splint. He joked about it, laughed, but George and Bill and Percy could all tell how much pain he was really in. He barely moved all night. And Angelina never showed up. They waited thirty minutes to start dinner, but she didn't come, and even after, with dessert, she wasn't there. It wasn't until George was about to leave that she spilled through the front door, a mixture of anxiety and stress.

"Angie!" his mum said and hugged her tight. "Is everything alright? Have you eaten? Sit down! You want some cake? Oh, it's almost like it used to be with a full house."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Angelina said, taking a seat at the table and consenting to the piece of cake. George grabbed a cup of tea and sat down to keep her company.

"I thought you'd changed your mind," George said.

"No, no," Angelina said. "Just took longer than I thought."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you after."

Evidently, her dad had found himself splinched at St Mungo's. "Intoxicated, again," Angelina had said in George's apartment, tea between them on the couch. "Like he hasn't learned his lesson." She had gone to pick him up, to see him home, to settle him in. "He said he was going out again, though. Like it wasn't a big deal."

"He's not a kid," George said.

"I know."

They turned on a muggle movie, some animated film neither of them watched very closely, and sat close on the couch. Angelina fell asleep, her tea still hot, leaning against George's shoulder, and he fell asleep not too long after. They woke up like that in the morning, light streaming in through the open window.

"I think we need to talk," George said the next morning as he cooked up eggs and bacon.

"About what?"

"About this. About what we're doing." 

"Why? Can't we just let it be?" 

"Let what be?"

"Let us be."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," George said and slid the eggs onto the plate. "Are we in a thing or aren't we?""

"Why do we have to define it, George? Is it not working for you?"

George sat across from Angelina and the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted to be with her, to have her be a part of his life.

"I want you to be my girlfriend. And I want to be your boyfriend," he said.

"You want to go steady?" She sounded annoyed, pissed off.

"I guess you could say that."

"So you've been sleeping around, is that it?"

"No, I just want to make it official, is all. I want to introduce you to my family as my girlfriend. I want to tell Charlie that I'm waiting for my girlfriend, and see Ginny for the first time in a year with my girlfriend, and bring my girlfriend out on dates, and work every day with my girlfriend," he said, ignoring the eggs quickly cooling on the plate. "I just want to know if that's something you're interested in."

Angelina sprinkled pepper on her meal.

"Angie?"

"I just think it would be weird," she said.

"Why?"

"Because of Fred."

"What about him? We aren't the same person, you know. He's not here, but I am. So what's the problem? I don't mean to be crass, but come on, now. If you don't want to be with me –"

"That's not it."

"Then don't be with me. If you want to be with me, then be with me. But if you don't want to, then…I mean, I don't know. We can't keep sleeping together and doing everything together, you know? It's just that I want to know if this is going anywhere."

"You always were the reasonable one, you know," Angelina said, scooping some eggs onto her fork.

"That's not an answer."

"That's a yes, George Weasley. I'll be your girlfriend. But you need to learn to make better eggs."

"Good," he said. "Then I can bring you on a proper date."

"We have to wait," she said.

"For what?"

"For the launch. There's too much to do before Friday."

"Saturday, then," George said, offering tea.

"Saturday, then."

3

Angelina was right, of course. There was too much to do before Friday. George should have convinced Bill to help package the rest of the stock, sweep floors, charm bracelets, hold down the front desk, even, instead of retreating back to the cottage. But they did it, anyway. Ron nearly had a mental break down twice, Hermione came in to assist with promotional material despite George's reservations, and Dennis was on point as always. The first time Seamus came out of the supply closet as Old Wizard Willie, a knotted old wizard with thin wisps of hair and a thinning beard, teeth missing and breath smelling like a dead muskrat, George knew they had a winner on their hands.

"Now just stand by the door and make sure no one under the age of fourteen gets in there," Angelina said. "We put down an age line, but we all know how that works."

"Alright pretty lady," Willie said, licking his thin lips. "I'll keep an eye on my little wizards." He laughed a throaty chuckle and took up his position as guard.

"He really is unnerving," Hermione said as she put the last of the testicle spectacles on their rack.

Willie's Wizards was a huge success, evident within an hour with the queue lining up to meet Old Wizard Willie and witness the treasures of his clubhouse. And Seamus was great. He advised young wizards on which products would best suit their needs, plenty of innuendo and disturbing eye gestures, but kept his distance from patrons wanting nothing to do with his club. The range of boys and young men showing up surprised him, too. Not just teenagers horny for a fix, but older ones out of Hogwarts, looking for the next hip thing, and parents, curious about what their kids had been talking about for the past three months. Even Charlie came by, Teddy at his side.

"Looks good, George," Charlie said, Teddy holding onto his good hand. "I'm very impressed."

"Have you seen the Hogsmeade shop?" Angelina said, taking galleons from a very young fourteen year old.

"I'll have to stop by there next," Charlie said.

"Dennis is holding it down," George said. "But you're welcome to go, of course."

"Of course." Charlie left without seeing the product, little Teddy nipping at his heels sucking on a sugar quill.

"A weeks profit in two days," George said Saturday afternoon, Seamus and Ron having run off to get a drink, he and Angelina sweeping up the shop.

"I'm exhausted," Angelina said, flicking her wand at the dust pile.

"Are you calling it quits already?" George said. "Do you want to postpone our engagement?"

"Engagement? I just thought it was dinner," Angelina said, leaning next to him over the books.

"Well, whatever you want to call it…"

"I'm in," she said. "Formal attire?"

"Sweatpants," he said. "I'm cooking."

"You're cooking?" she smiled at him, and he could smell her shampoo, a sweet honey vanilla mix.

"I can cook."

"Not eggs."

"Well, eggs aren't my specialty. Come by when you're done here."

George's specialty, if he had to be pressed, was stuffed baked chicken. Nothing too fancy, but good enough to get the job done. Add some baked potatoes, a little spinach, and he was good to go. By the time Angelina had arrived, he had tidied the apartment, set out some candles, and the chicken was almost done.

"Smells wonderful, I must admit," Angelina said. She was, in fact, wearing sweat pants. He had decided to go with jeans and an old Cannons tee-shirt with a fresh pair of socks.

"Well I'm glad you approve," he said and kissed her on the cheek.

"What a romantic."

"One of us has to be. Wine?"

"Merlin, George," Angelina said and followed him into the kitchen. "Always with the wine. Don't you have any beer? Or Rum or something?" 

"Will Micky's Brew do?" George pulled some bottles out of the fridge and grabbed glasses from the cabinet.

"Micky's will do fine." Angelina took the bottle before he could open it. "You always make more work for yourself, you know. You don't need a glass."

"I prefer a glass, thank you very much," he said and poured his into a pint glass.

Angelina shrugged and took a swig of the brew. "That's good," she said. "Just what I needed." She kicked back on the couch, setting her feet on the coffee table.

"So is this what being my girlfriend looks like?" he said, settling down next to her. "Making yourself comfortable?"

"Well, I assumed it was a part of it," she said. "I got you something."

"You got me something?" George shifted to square himself to her.

"Yes, I got you something." She pulled a small box out of her pocket, wrapped shoddily in Christmas wrapping paper. "It was the only thing I had."

"Well, thank you," he said, taking the package in his hands. It was light, almost as if the box were empty. "What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

"I didn't get you anything."

"You got me dinner. And a beer," she said. "That's enough for now."

"But –"

"Consider it an incentive," she said, taking another swig. "Now are you going to open it or what?"

George took apart the packaging and found himself staring at a jewelry box.

"You really shouldn't have gotten me earrings, you know," he said before opening it. "I'm very particular." But she hadn't gotten him Earrings, but a pocket watch, a representation of the Burrow engraved on the front.

"Molly said you might like it," Angelina said. "If you don't, I can take it off your hands and give you cash."

"A pocket watch?" He flipped it open.

"Not just any pocket watch." She pressed herself against him to point. "It's like the grandfather clock at the Burrow. Here I am, here you are, and here's Jeff." All three hands of the watch were pointed at 'George's.' Other stops included "Burrow," "Work," "Traveling," "Angie's," "Hospital," "Mortal Peril," "Lost," and "Prison."

"I don't think either of us will be going to prison," he said, turning the watch over in his hand.

"Just in case the law catches up to us," Angie said. "Do you like it?"

George stared at the watch, at his little household in his palm, all of them safe and sound.

"I do," he said, closing it and placing it and the gold chain on the table. "Very much so."

"So," Angelina said, standing up and taking her beer. "Is the chicken done yet?"

3

George's mum demanded Angelina come to Ginny's homecoming. "I don't care if she has to run the shop. Make Seamus do it," she had said shrilly through the floo, already showing her favoritism despite them not making an official appearance as a couple.

"She'll be there," George said. "Now, I have to get ready. Is Ginny ready to take Jeff back?"

"Doubtful," his mum said. "She's renting a flat in London. I doubt they allow pets."

"Fantastic."

"And Harry will be there," she said. "So be on your best? He's still a little shaken about last time."

"Well, maybe he won't propose this time," he said.

"George! Be supportive! Ginny's just…a little rebellious, is all."

"A little rebellious, yeah, mum."

"What am I going to do with you. Don't be late! Either of you!"

"Yes, mum."

Angelina showed up in Hogsmeade in a skirt, attractive and done up, Ginny's birthday present unwrapped in a bag.

"What is that?" he said, taking it from her. "We can't give her an unwrapped gift! The best part of the gift is the unwrapping!"

"Well, I can't wrap for dragonshit," she said and followed him into the kitchen. George pulled wrapping paper out of a cabinet and set to work.

"Clearly," he said, neatly packaging the beauty kit he had picked out in Diagon Alley for her.

"Why would I do it when you do it better?"

"We're going to be late." He looked up at the clock. They should have been there already.

"It's fine, George. It's just your family."

"My mum's going to kill us."

"It'll be fine." 

"She floo'ed me, you know. To tell us not to be late."

"Ginny probably isn't even there yet."

"Oh Merlin help me."

Angelina was right, of course. Ginny and Harry were not at the Burrow when they stepped through the front door, but everyone else was. Percy and Audrey, Charlie, Bill and Fleur and Victoire and Dominique, Ron and Hermione, Luna, Neville, and some fellow attached to Luna George had never met.

"Late!" his mum said. "Late as always!"

"Not as late as Ginny, though," George said, and hugged his mum.

"Angelina!" She hugged her tightly. "You look so well! I'm glad to see he's treating you right."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley."

"Is that for Ginny?" She took the bag out of Angelina's hand.

"Yes, mum, we didn't come empty handed," George said, taking Angelina's hand.

"And you've finally made it official," she said, warmth in her voice. "I'm so happy!" She hugged the two of them, knocking their heads together.

"Made what official?" Harry said, walking through the door leading Ginny, looking thin as ever, into the kitchen.

"Ginny!" Their mum said, hugging her daughter tightly. "You're late!"

"I got held up," she said, pulling away.

"Held up by what?" their mum demanded, hands on her hips, staring at her youngest.

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances, both of them smirking.

"We're engaged!" Ginny squealed, showing the ring on her finger, a reasonably sized diamond set in white gold.

Their mum squealed back and George and Angelina were forgotten in wedding talk, the first time in his life George had been glad for that sort of thing. The two of them just spent the night next to each other, chatting about Harry and Ginny's new life together, Ginny planning to leave quidditch for a position on the Prophet, and Harry promising to cut back field hours, although no one in the room believed him.

"And I'm joining up," Ron said by the end of the night. "Sorry, George, but the joke business just isn't working out."

"No offense," George said, waving him off.

"You didn't tell me!" Hermione shouted. "You could have at least talked it over first!"

"What a relief," George said after dinner, the bulk of the family engaged in a rousing game of exploding snap. "To not be the center of attention for once."

"Oh, I think you like it," Angelina said. "At least a little."

"Maybe just a little."


End file.

Harry Potter, Humor, Romance