A/N: This is a companion to my story Not As Expected. While reading that story is encouraged, it is not required. They should be able to stand alone.
Chapter One
A New Client
Congratulations! If you are reading this pamphlet, you have successfully completed all your testing and are now an official Ministry-approved participant in the wizarding world's first government-sponsored matchmaking service. Our population has suffered grave losses at the hands of now-vanquished dark forces, but there is no cause for despair! We will flourish yet again using the only tried and true method, found to be 99.8 percent effective in clinical tests—Love.
XOXO
Alicia Spinnet read the introductory paragraph a third time and was satisfied that the content would pass her supervisor's inspection. How her position in the Department of Witch and Wizard Services had turned into this she wasn't exactly sure. For one thing, the idea of working on weekends (and every other day, for that matter) had never appealed to her. It was time better spent playing Quidditch or rereading her favourite novels. But she certainly hadn't objected to the pay raise or the nice new office, and the health benefits were helpful as well, so she took the long hours without much complaint. The ridiculous pamphlets, however….
She flicked her wand and a large pile of the horrid things that had been threatening to topple straightened itself into a neat stack once again. She sighed. Her nice new desk was covered in the things. She was really beginning to regret the first day she had ever gloated about being a master of drumming up glorious bullshit for the printed page. The ability to ace a Potions essay with practically no research was one thing; being required to rewrite countless brochures so that they would glorify a program that practically forced young witches and wizards into marriage…well, that was another thing entirely.
No, "forced" was rather strong, she decided, picking up her quill and dipping it into her inkbottle once again. As long as the Ministry knew you were looking for a mate, they left you alone. For now.
Alicia played with the feather end of her quill, seeking inspiration for her next few sentences of hippogriff dung when there was a knock at her office door. Her immediate supervisor, Brantley Edgarton, walked in without waiting for an invitation and stood directly in front of her across the desk. She had found that two guest chairs were actually quite comfortable, but he didn't sit.
"Miss Spinnet, I have a new assignment for you," he said without preamble. It was bad enough that he was there to bother her on a Sunday, but the fact that he also had more work put him even higher on her list of annoyances.
"You mean I—" She held up a pamphlet, hoping desperately that he'd at least pull her off of that project.
"No, you will still need to compose the last of those. You have such a knack for it," he said dryly. "And create a template for the other matchmakers to use, of course. But I'm actually here to discuss your newest client."
Alicia took a deep breath. She hated writing the Ministry's propaganda pieces, but they didn't scare her like matching did. She'd gotten lucky so far; her clients had all been eager to be paired off. But what happened when her luck ran out? She needed this job. Without it, her prospects in the wizarding world were slim. She couldn't afford to lose it over some hormonal, thrill seeking….
A file folder landed on the desk in front of her. Slowly, she opened the front cover to see a large picture of George Weasley staring back at her. The George in the picture winked slyly at her, and she caught herself before the laugh could escape from her lips. Instead, she closed the folder and held it back out to Brantley. "I can't do it."
Brantley raised an eyebrow but didn't take the folder. "Mr. Weasley is our number one most eligible candidate at the moment. He's the next best thing to nabbing Harry Potter himself. You have to take it."
"You don't understand," said Alicia calmly, locking eyes with her boss. "I know George. Even dated him briefly when we were at Hogwarts together."
"You still have feelings for him? Is that why you can't take Mr. Weasley's case?"
Alicia's snort of laughter took the man by surprise, and his shock only made her laugh more. It was a full thirty seconds before she could compose herself enough to speak again. "I can't take Mr. Weasley's case because I couldn't knowingly subject any poor witch to dating him."
"Well, I'm afraid you're all we've got, Miss Spinnet," he said, opening up the folder. He began tossing papers unceremoniously onto her desk. He threw out a description as each hit the surface. "Too vain. Not pretty enough. No fun." He closed the folder once again and set the whole thing in front of her. "Let's just say Mr. Weasley has proven difficult to match. The program directors feel you are ready to truly prove your worth to the department. Consider this your career's make or break case."
Before she could even form another protest, Brantley ended the conversation with a curt nod and left. Alicia stared after him, her mouth hanging slightly open. George Weasley? It'd be easier than matching Fred—if there were ever a man doomed to bachelorhood, it was he—but neither of them had really seemed the "settling down" type. Sure, she hadn't really seen much of them since the war; there was the occasional visit to their shop to pick up a little something for her nephew, but even then she usually got little more than a glimpse of the busy brothers. Things could have changed, but she doubted it.
As much as this project scared her, Alicia also felt a familiar sense of confidence building in her chest as she considered her game plan. She was a professional. A year ago that thought would have been completely ridiculous to her. After all, how many people could say their careers consisted almost solely of trying to convince witches and wizards they were made for one another? Of following her prospects' daily lives, studying and making suggestions, creating an easy how-to list for their perspective matches?
But now they were handing her a challenging case because they thought she could handle it. And Merlin be damned if she was going to let a little thing like George Weasley stand in her way. In fact, she couldn't wait to tell Angelina about this bit of luck. Her job might turn out to be fun after all…. Whatever he could dish out, she could return tenfold.
Difficult, huh? By the time she was done with him, every witch in Britain and continental Europe would know just how to date George Weasley!
Half an hour later, a large barn owl flew into Alicia's office, flapping its enormous wings and scattering every single piece of parchment on her desk to the floor before it finally landed. Scowling, she took the owl's note and watched helplessly has the papers swirled even farther in the wake of the bird leaving. She opened her message:
Miss Spinnet,
Please immediately note, your new client will have a previously arranged potential match awaiting him at the Faded Rose Cantina this evening, further details provided in the file I gave you. Your attendance will be required.
Sincerely,
B. Edgarton
Bollocks, she thought. She had a hell of a lot to do if she was going to make it to a date tonight.
XOXO
Bollocks, thought George as he smoothed the shoulders of his best robes. His hair was tousled and untidy, his chin covered in uneven patches of day old stubble, and his breath probably still rank from the garlic-heavy leftover pasta his mother had practically force fed him before allowing him to leave. He'd already spent the last five minutes searching for the proper attire, and now he had no more time remaining to take care of the other little things he usually did before a date.
He had the sudden strong desire to strangle his twin for outing him. The night had been an intense one for certain—Hermione's reaction to and handling of the impending Muggle-born Registration Law was nothing short of stressful on everyone present at the Burrow—but through it all, his mother had somehow still latched onto the information that one of her sons was using the Ministry's dating service as his own personal playground. He wasn't a bit ashamed of his actions, but he really did like to avoid her lectures whenever possible. He had intended to give her a few days before even setting foot in the house again, but his and Fred's stomachs had thwarted that plan. And the food had almost been worth his mother's speech.
"I'm off!" he called.
Fred grunted some sort of answer, but George had already turned on his heel before he could attempt to draw understanding from it. The white brick façade of the Faded Rose Cantina popped into this view, and he smiled. Of all the places his handlers ever chose for dates, this one was his favourite. It didn't exactly make the dates any more memorable—Merlin knew there had been very few worth remembering—but the atmosphere was quite enjoyable. He thought maybe one day he'd like to have a real date there, the kind he would actually want memorialised in the cheesy, pseudo-romantic snapshots the waiters offered to all the patron couples.
He was right on time, but as he walked in and scanned the dining room, he didn't see Miranda anywhere. She had been the most enthusiastic of his matchmakers so far, and that was saying something, as he'd had many. He had actually begun to like her, if he was truthful with himself. Certainly not the brightest witch he'd ever met, but there was a genuine niceness about her that made it difficult to despise her, despite her choice of vocation. Had he scared her away already?
A tiny wave of guilt passed over him before he pushed it away. Wasn't that half the point? She was a Ministry employee, helping perpetuate a broken system by working for them. George knew he wasn't up to the kind of subterfuge people like Remus and his brothers got up to, but this—this was something he felt he understood. With a little mental shrug, he strode up to the host stand. Just doing his part to effect change.
"Welcome back, Mr. Weasley," said the maitre d', immediately gesturing toward the dining room. "We have placed your date at your preferred table. Do you have any special needs this evening?"
George shook his head as they wove their way through the tables, still full of fellow patrons even at the late hour. "What do you think of her, Lawrence?"
The host paused for just a moment to grin at him. "This one's very pretty, sir."
They rounded the corner, and as his usual spot came into view, he saw exactly what the other man was talking about. His date stood out, even in the crowded room. Her hair was sleek and black, and fell into her eyes just enough to entice a man to brush it away for her. Her dress was red, made with the type of material that clung to the body in all the right places without being overly provocative. She showed just enough leg and cleavage to still leave plenty up the imagination. She wasn't just pretty; she was absolutely stunning.
She stood as he approached and looked up him up and down appreciatively. Her voice was practically a purr when she said, "I've so looked forward to meeting you. My name is Joelle."
"Pleased to meet you, Joelle. I'm George." He kissed her hand, and the twinkle in her eyes let him know this was exactly what she expected.
They sat down in the booth, and she slid around the semi-circular seat just far enough that he could see a tanned section of her leg peaking from under her skirt, but not so far that it appeared they were intimate with one another. There was already a glass of wine sitting in front of her, mostly empty, and another full one waiting for him. He wondered how long she'd been sitting here waiting for him. Certainly long enough to have it all planned out. He made a mental note not to touch the wine or the breadsticks that were also waiting for him. He was suddenly very glad he'd given in to his mother's cooking.
Because his date was damn good, but he was better.
XOXO
Alicia watched from the table in the corner as the leggy, dark-haired girl fidgeted in her seat for the thousandth time in the last second. The poor girl had been waiting there when Alicia arrived a full half-hour before the date was scheduled, no doubt letting nervousness get the better of her. Though why a girl who looked like that would be nervous, she didn't know. She doubted this was the sort of witch who would have to use the Ministry as a way to free date, as she suspected George was probably doing. She should have had wizards lined up around the corner to take her out.
The file Brantley had given her didn't give much more insight into the situation. In fact, it didn't appear her predecessor had really done much prep work leading into this match at all. Nowhere in Miss Joelle Smith's profile did it say anything to indicate she had anything in common with George. Actually, it didn't say much at all. Alicia found herself flipping back through pages full of completely useless information and shaking her head at the state of the casework. No wonder they'd had so many problems matching George, if the other matchmakers were as incompetent as this one appeared to have been!
When she reached George's picture, she stopped and looked at it, suppressing a giggle. It winked at her once again, and her smile softened in remembrance of the real-life version of that expression. It had been a long time since she'd talked to him. She still saw Angelina, but after the war everyone else had sort of drifted his or her separate ways. Not intentionally, of course, but it had just happened that way. She hated to admit that a tiny part of her was actually looking forward to seeing him again, even in this capacity. George was a rogue, no doubt, but he was the sort of scoundrel you couldn't help but love despite his flaws.
With a sigh, she flipped the folder shut and set it back on the table. A large clock on the opposite wall declared that George had only two minutes remaining before he'd be late. Alicia jotted a few notes on the roll of parchment she had smoothed out in front of her and turned her attention back to the table. Habitual lateness was not something she would tolerate in a client, even one as—
She felt her jaw drop.
—devastatingly handsome as the one walking toward the table. Alicia tried to pay careful attention to the mannerisms of the two has they greeted one another and took a seat at the table, but focus was suddenly difficult. She barely recognized the man before her. Gone was the boy who had, back at Hogwarts, simultaneously plagued her every move with pranks and teases and yet inhabited every daydream of her teen life. In his place was a young man whose slightly rugged appearance served to enhance his otherwise clean cut persona. Unlike his date, whose beauty was appealing yet obviously the result of careful planning, George somehow managed to be gorgeous without any evident effort.
Get a hold on yourself! Her subconscious finally managed to worm into her stupor. This is George Weasley, for Merlin's sake! He broke your fifteen-year-old heart, and he's a client, not a potential date!
It was that thought that finally snapped her out of the trance of admiration. She was looking forward to speaking to him, more than ever now, but the fact that the years had made him even more attractive meant nothing. This was business; she had a job to complete. She looked back up at him, watching for a few seconds as he smiled at his date, made conversation. For the first time, full realization of her current situation washed over her. Even if George were not her client, if he were remotely interested in her, if she became interested beyond his surprisingly attractive grown-up exterior…she was the first person a competent matchmaker would cross off the list.
Alicia would see to it that George Weasley would find his soul mate, and the one thing she knew for certain was that it would not be her.
XOXO
Dear Miss Spinnet,
It is my duty to inform you that due to the results of your recent medical examination, and according to Ministry proclamation number one hundred and ninety-seven, you are hereby ineligible for Ministry-sanctioned marriage until such a time that corrective procedures can prove effective in relieving your condition.
My sincerest condolences,
Flavian L. MacPherson
Chief Administrator
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries