I.
The "Scar" Kiss
31 December 1998
George felt the corners of his lips twitch, as Bill twirled Fleur around and around the Burrow's crowded sitting room. Then, his own parents took the floor, swaying serenely to the music crackling from the wireless. They were followed closely by Harry and Ginny, both of whom were laughing so earnestly that they kept stumbling over each other's feet. George snorted softly, watching them.
"Here you go."
George blinked. A bottle of Pumpkin Juice was dangling in front of his face.
"Thanks," he grinned, taking the bottle and patting the space next to him on the couch—and the tall, dark, slender girl sank down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as she took a swig from her own bottle.
"How many times d'you reckon Harry can step on Ginny's feet before she chucks him?" Angelina whispered in George's ear.
George choked on his Pumpkin Juice, snorting with laughter. "I know he's the Chosen One and all," he told her under his breath. "But he'll always be the Boy Who Shagged My Sister to me."
Angelina grinned. "At least they aren't shagging right now," she said in a low voice. "I haven't seen Percy or Audrey since dessert."
"Bloody hell," George groaned, closing his eyes and giving his head a sharp shake. "Don't put unsolicited images in my head, Johnson."
Angelina snickered softly. For several moments, there was comfortable silence, as George watched Ron and Hermione play peek-a-boo with little Teddy on the hearthrug. The chubby eight-month-old was sitting in his grandmother's lap, giggling madly.
Suddenly— "Are you still up for drinks at Oliver and Katie's later?" Angelina asked quietly. "It—it's okay if you'd rather stay here with your family."
George glanced at her. Her tone was nonchalant, but her soft, brown eyes flickered up to meet his.
Every December since Fred and George had left Hogwarts, they had thrown a small New Year's party at their place in Diagon Alley. It had been Fred's favorite party of the year—just fifteen people in a dingy, two-bedroom flat above a joke shop, but Fred had entertained his guests like he would the Minister for Magic.
This year, Oliver and Katie had graciously offered to host.
George swallowed. "No…no, I'll come with you," he told Angelina. "It'll be nice to see everyone."
Angelina smiled. "I reckon everyone will be glad to see you, too," she murmured, reaching up and gently touching the side of his head where his left ear had once been. Reflexively, George flinched, and they both froze, staring at each other. Looking stricken, Angelina made to remove her hand, but George quickly placed his hand over hers, flattening it against his head.
He gazed at her, unsmiling, his head cocked slightly to the side—and Angelina held his gaze with just as much intensity, their breaths and heartbeats mingling.
Then, very slowly and very carefully, Angelina leaned up and brushed her lips to the thin white scars that outlined the small, clean, dark hole his lost ear had left behind.
"Happy New Year, George," Angelina whispered.
II.
The First Kiss
26 March 1999
George glanced up from the inventory list he was creating. Angelina was sitting across from him at his small, cluttered desk in the backroom of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, frowning slightly as she perused a large stack of old invoices.
After a year of running the joke shop exclusively as a Owl-order service, George would finally be reopening the premises to the public in a grand unveiling ceremony on the first of April. Ron, Verity, and Lee had been a massive driving force behind the endeavor. Ron, George was pleasantly surprised to find, had quite a knack for sales. Verity was as dedicated a shopgirl as ever, offering to tackle all of the product logisitics. And Lee's advertising skills were top-notch; he had taken to sneaking little announcements about the reopening into his daily news broadcasts for the Wizarding Wireless Network.
But it was Angelina who had stolen the show, in George's opinion. Despite her own demanding practice schedule with the Ballycastle Bats, she had spent just as many a late night as he had…conducting inventory with him…sorting through shipments of ingredients with him…organizing finances with him…
George had a sneaking suspicion that a large part of her dedication stemmed from wanting ensure that he stay as far away from the Firewhisky as possible.
But for some reason, this thought didn't annoy him as much as it once would have.
George leaned back in his seat, watching her closely. She was worrying her lip between her teeth, as she crossed out a few lines of incorrect calculations with her quill. Then, quite suddenly, she looked up and met his gaze, raising her eyebrows.
"George, what is it?"
George didn't respond. Something about Angelina's tone and expression stirred something in George—an old memory, an old conversation—it flickered across his mind, echoing in his ears.
"George, why didn't you ask me to the Yule Ball? Fred said you wanted to."
"It doesn't matter, does it? We're twins. You would've had the same night either way."
"George…" Angelina put down her quill and leaned across his desk, her brow furrowing with concern. "Are you all right? You look pale."
George opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was something very strange building in his chest, a fierce rush of…something—and suddenly, he knew what was going to happen before it did.
"George, you know that isn't true. You're twins, not the same person."
"Look—Ange, it doesn't matter. You went with Fred. You had a good time. What's the problem?"
Dropping his quill onto the desk with a clatter, George climbed abruptly to his feet and strode around the worktable towards Angelina. Then, he reached out and seized her wrists, pulling her up to her feet, as well. She stared at him, plainly fearful for his sanity, but before she could ask a single question, before she could utter a single syllable, George leaned down and kissed her firmly.
Angelina seemed to freeze in surprise for a fraction of a second. But then, in one fluid motion, she threw her arms around his neck and melted against him, kissing him back just as fiercely. And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Nothing in the world mattered, but for Angelina, and the warmth of her embrace, and the touch of her lips, so soft and warm against his own. George's mind went blank, his body went numb, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, but for Angelina's sweet, green apple scent, and the feel of her long, dark hair between his fingers…
George didn't know quite how long they stood there, together. Seconds slipped into minutes. Time didn't seem to exist. But the blazing look in Angelina's eyes as they finally broke apart filled George with a rush of emotion that was completely unfamiliar to him. He felt, for a moment, as though he were living someone else's life.
Angelina's low voice broke the silence. "It was always you, George. Since fifth year. I didn't think you were interested."
There was a long pause as George looked at her. His mind was perfectly blank, his head spun—he was still reeling from the kiss. And then, suddenly, he heard it—the voice in his head, sharp and dry, so like his own, but not quite.
"What're you just standing there like a dead fish for? Kiss her again, you sentimental bastard! How long have you been waiting for this?"
"You've no idea," he muttered, and then he took her face in his hands and kissed her again.
III.
The "Freddie" Kiss
10 February 2003
"You're joking," George said hollowly, sinking down onto the edge of his bed and staring up at Angelina. She was standing near George's bedroom door, a dazed expression on her face. Her right hand was resting lightly on her stomach.
"I just got back from St. Mungo's," Angelina said faintly. She leaned back against the door frame, looking dumbstruck. "I'm two months in, due in September." She blinked, several times. "It all adds up. I've been feeling ill for weeks. I thought it was just a bug, but…" she trailed off, closing her eyes and swallowing heavily. "I'm going to have to quit the team."
George buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Surely…surely, this wasn't actually happening. Surely, this was all some enormous misunderstanding. These kinds of things didn't happen in real life. More importantly, these kinds of things didn't happen to him. He and Angelina weren't even engaged, let alone married…
Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he raised his head. Angelina had sat down next to him on the bed. George looked at her for a moment. Then, he turned and stared down at his feet.
There were several, long, dense minutes of silence.
Then— "I've ruined everything," George said quietly.
Angelina gasped. "George—"
"Another non-ginger Weasley in the family," he interrupted in a tone of long-suffering, the corners of his lips lifting into a slightly shaky smile. "Bill's Veela girls are bad enough. What would my ancestors think?"
Angelina blinked rapidly, looking utterly dumbfounded.
Very slowly, George reached out and placed a gentle hand on her stomach. Angelina drew in a sharp breath and faced him, her eyes filling with tears.
Then, suddenly, George wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head, and pulled her into a tight embrace from which he did not release her for a very long while.
IV.
The Proposal Kiss
26 October 2003
"George, I swear, if you don't have a good reason for dragging me up this bloody hill, I will hex you into another universe," Angelina grumbled, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she traced George's footsteps up Stoatshead Hill's steep incline. "You know how I feel about dumping Freddie on your parents unannounced—"
"There is a good reason, Ange, I promise you," George said earnestly. Slipping a hand into his cloak pocket, he lightly fingered the Wildfire Whiz-bangs concealed within.
"Are we there yet, George?" Angelina's impatient voice floated up from several paces behind him, barely a minute later. George bit his lip, shaking his head. She was in a very foul mood, indeed.
"Nearly," George said with forced brightness. And finally, several excruciatingly long minutes later, they reached the top. George turned around and faced Angelina, a smile on his face. "All right. We're here."
"Brilliant," Angelina snapped. She turned around slowly, eyebrows raised. "Now, where's my big birthday surprise?"
"Close your eyes," George commanded, turning away to extract the bag of fireworks from his cloak.
"George—"
"Please?" George interrupted desperately, frowning as he counted them. "Just close them—it'll make the surprise better, I swear."
Heaving an extremely exaggerated sigh, Angelina obliged. "Fine. They're closed. You aren't planning on murdering me out here, are you? Because if you are, let me know and I'll take off my shoes first. They're new."
"You and your bloody shoes," George muttered, rolling his eyes. With a deep, reassuring breath, he began arranging the fireworks in a very neat, very specific pattern upon the grassy terrain. Then, heart hammering wildly in his chest, he pulled out his wand and touched it to the neat array of fireworks he had laid out. Incendio, he thought, grinning slightly as the familiar buzzing greeted his ears.
Angelina's eyes snapped open. "What—?"
BOOM.
Angelina let out a small scream, staggering. "George! George, what's going on? Where are you?"
But George simply watched with bated breath as her eyes searched frantically for his face through the darkness, finally landing on where he was kneeling in front of her, holding up a small violet box. The simple, but elegant diamond sparkled unmistakably, even in the night. Angelina's eyes widened. Then, her gaze flickered up to the dazzling sky and she gasped, hands flying for her mouth.
For several moments, Angelina simply stared at him, and in the sparse light, George could see tear tracks glittering on her cheeks. But when she spoke, her voice was very, very steady.
"I thought you'd never ask."
With a rush of mingled happiness and relief, George slipped the ring onto her finger, just as Angelina too fell to her knees, pulling him close and pressing her lips to his. Laughing, they kissed passionately, as the question in the sky glowed fiercely before fading away.
V.
The Wedding Kiss
21 August 2004
"Merlin, you look like you're about to kick the bucket," Ron snickered at George, who was very pale beneath his freckles.
"Oh, just wait until you get married, Ron," chuckled Percy, rolling his eyes at his brother. "It's a lot scarier than it seems."
"It seems terrifying," Ron smirked, raising an eyebrow at George.
"Well, like Percy said, it's a lot scarier than it seems," Harry grinned, thumping his best friend's shoulder. Ron and Percy laughed, and even George couldn't resist a smile.
Suddenly, Lee Jordan came sprinting up the aisle, pausing for a moment to look out at Ottery St. Catchpole's crowded village hall, before he took his position at the alter, next to George.
"All right, then," Lee winked at George. "Looks like we're ready to go."
Harry and Percy nodded and hurried to take their seats, while Lee and Ron straightened and faced the guests.
George swallowed heavily.
As if on cue, music began to swell from the golden archway under which George was standing. And then, she was there, just a few paces behind Alicia and Katie. George felt his mouth grow dry as Angelina Johnson appeared at the end of the hall, her dark, twinkling eyes trained precisely on his bright brown ones. She beamed up at him, as she glided down the aisle with her father, and in that instant, George felt an inexplicable surge of confidence well up inside him. With a warm smile, George reached out and took her hands in his, and together, they nodded for the short, stout wizard to begin the ceremony.
But George found himself unable to pay attention to a single word the wheezy little priest was saying. He simply mumbled in agreement every time he was asked a question and nodded distractedly whenever the wizard looked his way. He was busy furiously trying to memorize every detail about Angelina in that moment—the warmth of her fingers locked in his…the small smattering of freckles on her dusky cheeks…and the blazing look in her eyes when she declared, "I do."
So, when the plump little wizard finally squeaked, "You may now kiss your bride," George didn't need telling twice. He pulled Angelina into his arms and kissed her soundly.
VI.
The "Roxanne" Kiss
1 December 2007
"George?"
George blinked blearily, starting out of his half-doze. Shaking his head, he jumped out of the armchair he was wedged into and hurried to his wife's bedside. It had been nearly a day since Angelina had given birth to their second child, a daughter.
"You're awake," George whispered, beaming. "Are you all right? D'you want me to get you anyth—?"
"I'm fine, George," Angelina interrupted softly. "I just…can I see her?"
George nodded, quickly making his way towards the bassinet in the corner of the hospital room. Slowly, he leaned down and scooped up his daughter, cupping a hand around her dark, peachfuzz tuft of hair, as he walked back towards his wife and held the baby girl between them.
"There she is," Angelina whispered, tears filling her eyes as she touched a finger to her daughter's small cheek. She reached out, and George carefully nestled the small tangle of blankets into Angelina's arms. "There's my girl."
George grinned. "Cute, isn't she? Just a few years, and she'll be using that adorable face to get out of detentions."
"Oh, no, she won't," Angelina cooed at the baby. "You're Mummy's good girl, aren't you? You'll keep Freddie in line…yes, you will…"
George snorted softly, shaking his head. Then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, George sat down next to Angelina on her hospital cot. "Ange, I…" he trailed off, reaching out and smoothing back a few flyaway strands of Angelina's hair. "I…I was thinking, and…I reckon we should name her Roxanne."
Angelina looked up, startled. "What?"
"I think…I think Roxanne is a good name for her," George nodded, smiling slightly at his wife's stunned expression. "We should name her after your mum."
"Even though…" Angelina still looked as though she couldn't believe her ears. "Even though she left me, when I—"
"When you were born, yes," George sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Angelina. "You were right—it was brave of her to apologize to you, even if it was fifteen years late, and…" George paused, trying to phrase his thought in a way that wouldn't uspet her. "And I remember how devastated you were when…when she was killed, and I realized that…I would want my daughter to be named after someone who was able to make such a big impact in such little time."
Angelina gazed at her husband, blinking rapidly. "I would, too," she whispered.
George smiled, leaning down and kissing her. Then, he pulled back, smirking. "You know, I only met your mum once, but if the amount of trouble she caused as an adult is any indication, she must've been a right terror at Hogwarts."
"Shut it, George."
VII.
The Last Kiss
21 November 2097
George swallowed heavily, forcing a smile onto his otherwise pale, tired face. With a deep, shuddering breath, he gently swung open the door to the bedroom he shared with Angelina in their cozy, little flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—where they still lived, after all these years.
He walked across the room, towards the bed in the center, where Angelina was lying, staring up at the ceiling. Her face was thin and worn, her eyes very heavy, her jaw slightly clenched. But the moment she saw him approaching, her face broke into a warm smile.
"George," she whispered hoarsely. She had permanently lost her voice, two years earlier, when she had become an unfortunate victim of Dragon Pox. Although she had ultimately received a clean bill of health, the long, painful illness had taken a great deal out of her. "Sit down, sweetheart."
Quietly and carefully, George sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand and rubbing it with his thumb. "How're you feeling?" he asked.
Angelina managed a wry laugh. "George, you really oughtn't to ask me that anymore."
"Shh," George murmured, ignoring the painful twinge in his chest as he gently squeezed her hand. "You—you're fine, Ange."
Angelina smiled sadly. Then, with extraordinary effort, she pushed herself upright and leaned back against the headboard. "I—George, sweetheart, I…I honestly don't think I have much longer. I really don't know how long, but…" she trailed off, looking pained. "But I'm feeling very, very tired, sweetheart."
George closed his eyes. His worst fears were, at long last, coming alive. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to open his eyes, and find himself at age thirty…Angelina giggling at a joke he'd told…Freddie's childish laughter echoing through the flat…little Roxanne gurgling happily in his arms…
But when his eyes finally reopened, George found none of these things. He mentally shook himself.
"Roxy and Henry just left," George informed his wife, his voice falsely cheery. "And Freddie, Nayla, and the kids cooked us some dinner. It's in the kitchen."
Angelina beamed warmly. "That was very sweet of all of them," she said scratchily, and George nodded, pressing his lips together. And as though she noticed this, Angelina let out a small sigh, "Oh, George, come here." She held up her frail, trembling arms and George immediately obliged, leaning forward and looping his own arms around her small waist. Then, very, very gently, he bent down and kissed her, smiling in spite of himself as he breathed in her familiar green apple scent.
"I love you, George Weasley," Angelina said softly, when they finally broke apart. "And I'm—so sorry I won't be with you—until the end."
George's throat swelled shut painfully, but he shook his head, leaning forward and gently resting his forehead against hers. Angelina smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "You're stuck with me, Ange," he whispered.
Author's Note:
Hello! I feel like it's been ages since I last posted a one-shot. This one's for SonyaWho's "Seven Kisses" Challenge. Some of it was very sad to come up with, but it was…cathartic, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it.
Oh, and if anyone's interested to know more about my headcanon for Angelina's mother, shoot me a PM!
Ari