A/N: I got this idea based on something I saw on tumblr. Also, drawing from the experience my husband and I had when we went to see Jurassic World.

Treacle Tart Girl

If George Weasley had to pick a word to describe his life, it would be fine.

He had somehow managed to scrape by University with a degree in business, he and his brother had opened up a joke shop which was flourishing, and he was no longer living under the same roof as his mother.

He was currently most thankful for the latter.

Because everything was fine, just fine, but his mother never believed him.

"I'm telling you, George," his mother was saying during one of their routine Saturday night family dinners, "this girl is perfect for you. She's got a wonder sense of humor, she's quick witted, and she's gorgeous."

It wasn't that George disliked coming back to the Burrow. What he does dislike is the constant pestering of his mother to set him up on a date and always with the same girl. George isn't sure what has exactly endeared this girl to his mother so, but he is fairly certain that any girl his mother would approve of would be an absolute bore.

And truthfully speaking, George didn't need any help when it came to the dating department. He was a handsome, charming, clever bloke if he did say so himself. But his love, his passion was the joke shop that he ran with his brother. He doesn't have a lot of time to date, and frankly he doesn't find many girls interesting. He has impossible standards, his brother tells him constantly.

But he was under the impression that his brother was going along with their mother's plan so George would get off his back about shagging Angelina every night.

Honestly, the girl sounded as though she were being murdered.

"I'm not being set up with some random girl who likes treacle tart by my mother," huffs George for the third time that night.

"What's so wrong with treacle tart?"

"Besides the fact that it's disgusting," says George, practically spitting out the word, "it's like your favorite thing about her. 'Treacle tart girl came back today, George. She got some to go today, George. I made some specifically for her today, George.'"

"You're letting one silly little thing stop you from meeting her," says his mother while rolling her eyes. "I'm telling you, if you met her you'd know."

"Why not set her up with Charlie then? He's just as single as I am."

"This girl is perfect for you," says his mother once more. "Not for Charlie. For you."

"I guess we'll never know, mum."

It's a Sunday when George decides to go to the cinemas in the middle of the day.

It's the only day the shop is closed and he's been working incredibly hard on a new line of products and he's desperate for a break. Besides, the new Jurassic World movie has just come out and it looks like complete shite and George could use a laugh. He had asked Fred to go along with him but his brother had shot that down.

Because Angelina.

"I can't go to a bad movie by myself," said George when he had first brought the subject up to Fred. "What, am I going to make sarcastic remarks to strangers?"

Fred's only response had been a bird shot in George's direction as his lips were preoccupied with Angelina's.

Honestly, George was starting to sort of hate the bird.

But he knows deep down - way, way deep down - he's probably just a bit jealous.

He's certain his face shows how bitter he feels about it because the woman behind the snack desk doesn't even bother to make small talk as she fills his large popcorn and coke. He nods his thanks and is directed to a dark theater where he decides to sit in the back row so people wouldn't judge him for his lack of company. And also so he wouldn't risk pissing someone off with his commentary and getting kicked out.

It's rather dead and George isn't sure if it's normal for a Sunday or not.

He rarely gets out anymore.

There's a scattering of couples, some parents with their kids, and a group of guys sitting closer to the front who are obnoxiously shining their phones in each other's faces.

George misses Fred in that moment.

But the thought leaves him as quickly as it came, for the most beautiful girl that George has ever seen in his life walks into the theater clutching a candy box and a soda.

She pauses for a brief moment, surveying the dark room, before deciding to sit a few seats down from George himself. She's got a thin frame, long raven hair, and emerald eyes that shine way too bright inside a dimly lit room.

She offers George a small smile that he's too dumbfounded to return before opening her bag up and pulling out another small candy box and pouring its contents into the other.

She's far, far too beautiful to be single, George thinks. And yet she's here alone so that leads him to believe that she doesn't have a boyfriend. At least, he would never allow her to go to a movie alone if he was her boyfriend. He would go everywhere with her.

Well, maybe not everywhere. He's not that possessive.

But she seems like the type of girl who's company he wouldn't mind keeping.

He glances at her left hand and doesn't spot a ring on her finger and decides that maybe he does have a chance after all.

And then the movie starts and he's got nearly two hours to decide how to approach this girl without looking like an idiot.

This movie was supposed to be stupid. It was supposed to be bad, horrible, awful.

Except it's not. It's fucking amazing.

And Chris Pratt is distracting him from his mission and he thinks he may have developed a bit of a man-crush on him at some point.

"What the hell," says George as Pratt is speeding through the island with the raptors and it's not nearly as stupid as the previews led him to believe. "This movie is supposed to be shite."

He doesn't realize how loud he is until he hears a giggle next to him and turns to see the emerald eyed girl laughing at him.

"It's supposed to be bad," said George, this time directly to her. "I thought this movie was supposed to suck!"

I know, she mouths at him and gives him a grin that shouldn't be able to elicit such an exciting response.

Feeling quite brave, and a bit stupid, George slides down the row until he's sitting directly next to the girl. Her eyes are even brighter up close and George likes the way they light up when she smiles.

"I came to see this movie to make fun of it," she says to him and George thinks he's in love. "I don't know why I thought a movie with dinosaurs would be bad."

"It's the preview!"

"Pratt looked like such and arse in it!"

"He did!"

They lock eyes for a moment and George conplates many things. He considers telling her that she could quite possibly be the love of his life but decides that is far too forward. He thinks about asking for her name, her number, her shoe size. Anything to help him know this girl a bit better.

But in the end, he decides to offer her some of his popcorn which she takes with a smile and she in turn offers him some of her mixed up candy.

Which ends up being regular skittles mixed with sour and he's so fucking infatuated with this nameless girl that he thinks he may dissolve like the sourness on the skittle he's just consumed.

"-and then the kid said 'we need more teeth!' and I knew exactly what was about to happen. I mean what the hell! It looked like complete rubbish from the preview!"

"I know! I came here to make fun of it and now I'm somehow feeling both completely robbed and thrilled at the same time."

The movie had ended (magnificently, George might add) and he and the raven haired girl remained in the cinema lobby still astounded. George, by both the movie and by how much more beautiful the girl was in the light.

"I told my brother he should have come with me," George continued, though if he were being completely honest he was rather thankful Fred didn't come. "He'll want to see it now and I'll make him go alone."

"Except you told me he has a girlfriend so he probably won't be alone-" the girl pauses, her face skewing quizzically as she draws out a vibrating cell phone. "Oh shoot, this is my grandmother. I better take this. It's either an emergency or she's trying to set me up with this guy she thinks would be just perfect for me."

"Oh, okay."

"See you then," she says offering him another smile before walking away. "Hey nana-"

He watches her leave, admiring the sway of her hips as she goes, and it's not until she's out of the door that he realizes he didn't get her name or number.

The possible love of his life had just walked out the door and he didn't even know who she is or how to get in contact with her.

"Fucking hell."

It's a Thursday and George is back at the shop showing some young boys a bunch of stick-on mustaches that they carry when the bell to the shop dings and in walks Euphemia Potter.

She's an older lady who apparently has a son that enjoys the products in George's store and stops by on her lunch break to check out their new merchandise. She also has a granddaughter that she says would be just perfect for George, but George always shoots her down saying it's company policy to not date any family member of their customers.

Bad for business, you know.

"Hello, Euphemia. How can I help you today?" asks George but he knows exactly how she wants him to help her and he's not certain he wants to oblige.

"I wanted to see if you had anymore of those splat frogs. James really got a kick out of them. Spent all of last Friday tossing them at his boss' window," she says with a smile that George thinks for a moment looks oddly familiar. "Also, I wanted to show you a picture of Harriet-"

"Now, Euphemia. You know the rules," says George fishing down a packet of splat frogs, "and the way you talk about your son, I always forget he's a grown man. I hope people think the same of me whenever my mother talks about me."

"Rules are meant to be broken," she tells George as if he doesn't know this fact himself. As if he hasn't lived his entire life bending and breaking rules. "And James is a giant child. It's a wonder they keep him on at the police station. If he weren't such a damn good detective he would have probably been fired by now."

"Anything else I can do for you, other than the splat frogs?"

"Let me just give you Harriet's number-"

"Do you often try to give your granddaughter's number out to strange men?"

"Nope," she says with a laugh. "Just you and you manage to shoot me down every single time."

"You're nothing if not persistent," says George offering her a smirk. "But I'll have you know, I met the girl I'm going to marry this past weekend."

"We shall see, George Weasley."

Euphemia pays for the splat frogs and gives George a parting smile before leaving. George watches her go and notices for perhaps the first time that there are flicks of raven mixed in with her greying hair.

George makes a plan to go to the cinemas every Sunday hoping to God he will run into the raven haired girl again.

He sends entirely too much money on movies that he doesn't necessarily want to see and snacks that he could sneak in for a cheaper price. He does all this every Sunday without fail and he never sees the raven haired girl much to his displeasure. He's beginning to get discouraged but he knows she's out there somewhere and unless her grandmother managed to set her up, she's single.

And so he rides by on hope for the next few weeks.

It's Saturday night again and George is at the Burrow once more. And his mother is on an absolute rant about the treacle tart girl who apparently had come in while Fred had taken his lunch break at his mother's sweet shop.

"I'm telling you, George," he mother was saying, "she can handle Fred. She can handle you."

"I don't need to be handled," says George rolling his eyes.

"Mum's not lying, you know," says Fred, his arms crossed as he leans against the kitchen counter. "The girl is good looking. Not to mention she's got a sharp tongue. I know how much you like to be berated."

"I don't- I'm not interested in treacle tart girl!"

"I know, I know," grins Fred. "You're interested in movie theater girl whose name and number you failed to get."

"What's this now-"

"Nothing, mum," Fred and George chime together.

George has given up all hope of ever seeing the raven haired girl again after a month goes by and he is no closer to finding her. It's not like you can exactly search raven haired girl's near me on Facebook. Though like an idiot he's tried.

It doesn't help matters that he is on his way to his younger brother's engagement party. His brother is marrying a bookish girl that he met at University and George is just as painfully single as ever.

The party is being held at the Burrow and George helped his dad put up a garden tent the night before. His mother was up all night preparing the food and George noticed the treacle tart and his mother's smirk but said nothing. He wouldn't put it past her to invite the girl and now it appeared as though his evening was going to consist of dodging a girl and no open bar.

Sometimes the world just wasn't fair.

Some of the guests had already arrived by the time George, along with his brother and his brother's girlfriend, arrive at his mother's house. Fred and Angelina link hands as George scowls behind them. Perhaps he could fake a stomach ache and leave early.

Maybe he could eat some of his mother's treacle tart and actually make himself sick.

George is in the midst of trying not to dry heave at the thought when a flash of raven catches his eye.

George pushes past Fred and Angelina so fast that he nearly knocks them both over in the process. Ignoring their cries (and Fred's thread of expletives) George practically sprints the distance to the dessert table where the raven haired girl is standing. He barely had enough time to skid to a stop before she's turning towards him, her eyes wide, her mouth full of something sweet.

"What are you doing here?" they both say at the same exact moment.

They pause, completely stunned by one another.

And then there is laughter and it takes George a moment to realize that it's from the two of them.

"This is my mum's house," says George after he collects himself. "What are you doing here?"

"What?" questions the girl as though she hasn't heard him correctly. "This is- Molly...Molly is your mum?"

"Yes," says George, his brow furrowing. "Do you know her?"

"Yes," she exclaims laughing as though she has cracked some sort of riddle. "I go to her bakery all the time!"

"You do?"

"Wait a minute," she says poking him in the chest with a pretty finger. "You- you're George?"

"That's me."

"I can't believe this," she says though she sounds giddy. "All this time you're mum's been trying to set me up with you! I told her there's no such thing as a good looking George...and well- I was wrong."

She looks so shocked and George fancies her looking this way. Like a wide eyed doe. And then everything she said comes crashing down and he looks down at her plate which has-

"Treacle tart. You're treacle tart girl?"

"Well, technically my name is Harriet but you can call me whatever you like so long as you call me."

"Harriet?"

George was supposed to say it, supposed to call her by her name, except someone has beaten him to it. It takes him a moment to realize the Euphemia has appeared beside them smiling and George knows now why her smile looked so familiar that day in the shop. Euphemia and Harriet had the same smile. Because Harriet is Euphemia's granddaughter.

His mum and Euphemia really were onto something.

"Hey nana," says Harriet - that's her name...Harriet, Harriet, Harriet- and George can't take his eyes off her. "This is-"

"George," Euphemia finishes for her, smiling smugly. "George Weasley. They boy I've been trying to set you up with for months now. Though now it doesn't look like he's protesting the idea so much."

"Oh my god," says Harriet. "This is- you're the joke shop guy too? The one nana's been saying would be just perfect for me? And you're Molly's George. I don't know how I didn't put the pieces together. And- and your movie theater guy!"

"That's me, apparently."

"Oh my goodness, and my best friend is marrying your brother of all people!"

"Hmm," hums Euphemia. "Seems like you two know each other."

"Not as well as I would like," says George.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it then."

George watches Euphemia leave knowing full well that he will never hear the end of this whenever she stops by on her next lunch break, but finding currently he doesn't give a damn. He should have listened to her in the first place. He should have listened to his mother too. But it doesn't matter now for she's in front of him at this moment and he has another chance.

"Treacle tart girl, Euphemia's granddaughter, Harriet. Would you like to go on a date?"

He had wanted to take things slow, that had been the plan at least. Pick her up, take her to a movie, take her to dinner. That had been the plan. Except when they got to the cinema one of them (he wasn't sure who...alright, likely it was him) had leaned in when the theater went dark and then their noses were brushing and their lips were meeting; softly, slowly at first and then building in intensity. Except when it was time to go to dinner he found he wasn't exactly hungry for food, not with Harriet nipping at his pulse point like that. Except when they got back to his flat he decided that he no longer wanted any space between them and she was undoing the buttons of his shirt and he was inching the zipper of her dress down.

Slow was overrated anyway.

The zipper of her dress snags slightly and George takes that moment to ask her if she's sure, if she's okay with everything and her response is to take his thumb that had moved to trace her bottom lip in her mouth and sucking on it slowly causing his breath to hitch.

And then his lips are on hers again and her dress hits the ground and her back meets the mattress of his bed.

And…

And…

And…

Everything is right. Just right.

Harriet stays at his flat for three straight days and George decides he never wants her to leave. He wants to marry her, keep her forever tucked underneath him. Except he doesn't tell her that. At least not yet.

It's too soon, you know.

His thumb is brushing her tattoo that says Once Upon a Time that rests on her ribs just below her heart when the doorbell to his flat rings and he thinks it must be the take out they ordered earlier.

Except it's not.

It's his mother which he finds out as soon as he opens the door.

"Have you not gotten out of bed yet?" his mother asks bustling in before George can tell her now is really not a good time. "Well, how was your date with Harriet? It's been three days now and I haven't heard anything."

"Oh- um...good? It was- it was good," says George for he's at a total lack for words.

"Good?"

George is racking his brain, trying to figure out a way to get his mother out of his flat without it looking suspicious when Harriet comes out of his bedroom wearing the shirt he had on the night before. And god she's so beautiful. Even with her hair a horrible mess and especially in his shirt. But he can tell she's immediately mortified to be in his shirt when she spots his mother and tugs hopelessly at the material.

"Molly!" Harriet squeaks, her face heating up.

"Oh," says his mother looking at Harriet's glowing face and smiling. "I suppose it was good then, wasn't it?"

"It's been good for three straight days now!" cries Fred from his bedroom.

And it is good. It's better than good.

It's fan-fucking-tastic.

And if George had to pick a word to describe his life right now that would be it.

Fan-fucking-tastic.