Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even The Daily Grind (which I moved to England and changed from a dessertery for no reason)…blah, blah, blah; yadda, yadda, yadda.

A/N: This is the interlude/prologue for a story I started a few months ago. I might post it over the summer holiday, but until then this will just have to serve as a teaser trailer. And AF and I are working on updating all our stories, so that you'll have something to do while we're stuck studying for finals for the next couple of weeks.

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A tall, raven-haired woman stepped out of the fireplace and into The Daily Grind, a sophisticated, but cosy café situated on the outskirts of North London and approached the host.

The host recognised her immediately and nearly knocked over his podium to reach her. "Good evening, Ms Weasley. Your companion is already here. Please follow me to your table," he said in a clipped, butler-like accent before leading the young woman to an intimate table set for two in the back of the restaurant.

Once she reached the table, an even taller (albeit only by a few centimetres) redheaded man of the same age greeted her with a teasing smile that made her stomach do gymnastics every time she saw it. "You're late," he accused good-naturedly while standing up and pulling out her chair.

"Two minutes. And it's the first time I've been late for anything in the fourteen years that you've known me."

"So? You know the rule: he who is late pays for the date. I thought my wallet would never get any relief."

The woman's mouth twisted into a grin. "It isn't. You just said it yourself: he who is late. We go dutch."

"I only said 'he' because I'm usually the late one. But I'm not really hungry. So why don't we skip dinner and just go home and have dessert," the man shot back, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

The woman shook her head. "Forget it. Now that Oliver has been named the new captain of Puddlemere, it's like we're back at Hogwarts. We've been practising for the Chudley match all day and I have yet to eat anything."

The young man laughed. "If I remember correctly, you were the same way as captain."

"Your memory must be off in your old age because I was nowhere near as bad as Oliver."

"Oh yes, you were. And I'd like to remind you that you're older than I am."

"It's six-and-a-half months!"

"Yeah, well think about those six-and-a-half months next time you call me old!" The playful expression on the young man's face changed into a pensive one. "You hate that, don't you?" he asked.

"Hate what?" the woman asked back, clearly confused.

"Playing for Wood again."

She smacked her head in frustration. "I just told you that I've been worked to the brink of exhaustion and I haven't eaten anything all day. Of course, I hate it."

"That's not what I meant. I meant being traded to Puddlemere United. I know how badly you wanted to play for the Harpies," he said with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I also wanted a husband who wouldn't shag any willing witch," the woman answered with more than a tinge of icy bitterness colouring her words. She then took a sip of her champagne in an attempt to hide her regret for broaching the subject. Talking about her soon-to-be ex-husband was not how she envisioned this night with her boyfriend.

Unfortunately, her beau didn't catch the hint. "Actually, the last one was a Muggle. But that's beside the point. I warned you before you married him. Came out and said that it was the biggest mistake you could make."

"And, yet, you were still the best man at the wedding," she replied, a bit more snidely than she intended.

"Hey, what could I have done? He was my brother and you were my best friend. Who else was going to do it?"

"You could've kidnapped me or something. Made sure I didn't make it to the altar."

"Now you're being silly."

"A little," the young woman admitted with a slight blush. "But you still could've done something."

"You're right; there was one other thing I could have done: told you that I loved you. If I had, would that have changed anything?"

"At the time, no."

"I rest my case."

The pair sat in silence and sipped their glasses of champagne. Then the woman spoke up. "So George, what kind of dessert did you have in mind?"

George Weasley smiled at his soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law. "The kind that involves you, whipped cream, and cherries. Maybe a little chocolate syrup."

Angelina Johnson-Weasley tossed the idea around in her head for a few seconds before a slow grin spread across her face. She slapped down enough pounds to cover the cost of their Cristal and stood. "I'll be in the bedroom with the whipped cream," she said before Disapparating with a 'pop'.

George waited around for a few seconds, trying to make sense of his girlfriend's last sentence. She never turned down food; it was amazing that she was still so thin. "Wait a minute. There's amazing sex to be had. Why the hell am I still here?" As he stood up to follow his girlfriend, it dawned on him that they were out of cherries. "Eh, screw the cherries," he muttered and he Disapparated, also with a loud 'pop'.