'Gwenog says they'll be a pushover, but honestly-'

'And when was the last time she played them?'

'Exactly!'

George leant against the doorframe and smiled. Quidditch, always Quidditch when Ginny and Ange got together. He felt sorry for Mum and Hermione, having to put up with them

The very first conversation he ever had with Angelina had been about Quidditch. She'd started an argument with Fred about Puddlemere United, and he had joined in. They'd agreed to disagree, after a while, and, well, she'd never really left. He hadn't know then, though. Knowing had come later, in seventh year.

He peered around the doorway. She was sitting with her back to him, gesturing wildly and tapping her toe on the ground. She never could keep still.

Ginny saw George looking and grinned at him. She knew, of course. Had Harry been this nervous before proposing to Ginny? Had Ron, when he asked Hermione?

'What are you looking at?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing...'

He checked his pocket for the hundredth time. The box was still there.

Bite the bullet, George. She'll say yes, definitely.

George grimaced. Fred's voice had the habit of popping up in untimely moments.

They were talking about Hermione's baby bump now. Apparently the baby was kicking like a fiend. Since it was due in two weeks, Ginny was full of motherly advice.

Would they have kids? What would she think of naming a boy "Fred"?

There were footsteps and voices from outside, and Harry and Ron came traipsing in, still in their Auror both stared at him for a bit, then Harry muttered something to Ron, who grinned.

'D'you want us to run you some interference? Get her outside?'

George nodded dumbly and stepped back to let them pass. Harry and Ron entered the living room and interrupted the conversation to great their wives. After listening to the babble of conversation for a minute George thought they had been messing him around, but then Angelina can into the kitchen, her beautiful face a mask of confusion.

'Has something happened? Harry said you wanted to talk to me...'

'Come outside...'

Trust Harry to make it sound more worrying than it was. He was always doing that, the spoilsport.

Should he be more worried? What if she didn't want to settle down?

'George? Are you all right? You look like you're having a heart failure!'

Get on with it!

'Close your eyes.'

'Why?'

'Humour me?'

She snorted. 'I do plenty of that already, thank you very much.' Nevertheless, her eyes were closed.

He felt less of an idiot kneeling down when no-one could see him.

'Angelina Samantha Johnson, will you marry me?'

Her eyes popped open. 'Of course I will. Is that all?'

'I love you, Ange'

Congratulations, Lugless.

I'm fond of this pairing, can you tell?

This fic was inspired by the Missy Higgins song Angela.