Easter Egg Hunt Challenge
For The Review Lounge / Sober Universe / Memory Butterfly Forums
A story about a couple, a hunt, including an egg, chocolate, dancing, five fingers, warmth, and feelings . . .
Loads and loads of feelings. . . .
Warnings: Mild language. This is unbeta'd and I own nothing.
Please let me know what you think in a review. Thanks.
The Oeuf and a Kiss:
A George Weasley and Angelina Johnson Story
Setting: April 23rd, 2000 on Easter Sunday
Oh, she was not supposed to be this bloody nervous . . .
Can you die from an acute attack of butterflies bashing around in the guts?
Angelina Johnson clenched her guts as they squirmed rather painfully.
Make that rabid butterflies.
Angelina kept telling herself, "It's no big deal . . . it's just an Easter Egg Hunt . . . for the children . . . little ankle-biters!" The hunt was her first big project for Phoenix House, the new Ministry-funded sanctuary for wizarding children left without families and proper homes in the aftermath of the Second War.
Angelina had shocked herself, her family and her friends by turning down an opportunity to try out for Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps. She couldn't really explain it herself.
Oh, of course you can, Johnson! Even if you don't want to admit it . . .
George . . .
You didn't want to leave George, did you?
"Dammit!" Angelina exclaimed, as she threw the eighth . . . ninth . . . tenth failed outfit onto her bed. She leaned against her closet and let out a breath.
Angelina thought back through the trajectory of her life . . . of hers and George's life . . . over the past couple of years.
They were so connected, after all.
From the time she had walked into the Burrow just after Voldemort's defeat, she had had this feeling, this indescribable pull to see George.
And so she did. . . .
She walked through the door of his bedroom and pulled out from his hands the mirror he'd been staring at . . . the mirror he had been clutching with the five fingers of his left hand and the five fingers of his right hand. His knuckles had turned white, and the mirror was covered in moisture.
Angelina had to close her eyes for one moment. She had never been alone with George when he had cried.
George had always had Fred, after all.
And now . . .
She knelt in front of George, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at George's face. . . .
His face . . .
Furiously shoving her own desire to cry back down into her guts, Angelina reached up to touch the strands of hair covering the right side of George's face. She pushed them back and gently, gingerly, she grazed the space where his ear should've been.
At her touch, he finally met her eyes.
"I see him, Ange." George spoke softly and Angelina leaned forward to better hear him. "I see him when I see me . . . he's everywhere . . . he's no where . . . I don't know where he is . . . don't know where I am . . ."
"I'm here, okay George?" Angelina whispered. "I'm not leaving you. . . ." It was all Angelina could manage to say before George fell off of his bed and crumbled into a trembling mass of sobs.
She had never looked back. After the war . . . after watching Voldemort fall . . . after seeing Fred die and after watching George step back from the edge of madness . . . Quidditch seemed like such a trifle.
Helping George find his way out of the darkness when he lost Fred had put things into perspective for Angelina. Thus, six or seven months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina Johnson wrote back to the Wasps, thanked them for their offer and politely declined with nary a regret. She then applied for several service positions within the Ministry, and was surprised when Minister Shacklebolt approached her with a position at his pet project, The Phoenix House.
Of course, just because George had brought out a new, more compassionate Angelina Johnson, George wasn't doing anything to help her find the right outfit for the big event today.
Give it up Johnson. You've got nothing here!
You're not wondering in the least if there was an article of clothing that might get George to notice you . . . are you, Johnson?
"I'm losing my mind! There's nothing at all in my bloody closet that doesn't scream 'dancing harlot'!" she muttered to herself, shaking her head.
"You're probably right about that, Twinkle-Toes," came a voice from the doorway of her bedroom. "Although, your style of dancing is less harlot, and more whirling dervish!" Angelina jumped up and gave a small yelp in surprise. Ginny Weasley sashayed into the bedroom, one hand on her tummy, the other arm extended, as the girl spun around twice and did an exaggerated cha-cha-cha next to the older, more frazzled girl.
"Ginny!" Angelina exclaimed."Don't sneak up a girl like that."
Ginny Weasley shrugged and laughed at Angelina's look of lingering surprise. "Mum wanted me to come over and make sure you didn't need any help."
Angelina shook her head. "No, er . . . I . . . um . . . everything's good, Gin."
Ginny looked around Angelina's bedroom. "Sh-uure . . . ri-ight, Angie. It's like Madam Malkin's exploded in here."
Angelina sighed. "Yeah . . . can't really argue with you there." She put her hands on her hips. "I've got all these dance-y, clubby clothes, Ginny, but I've got nothing appropriate for this Easter Egg Hunt."
Ginny cocked her eyebrow. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I showed up." With a flick of her wrist, Ginny brought her wand up and strutted over to Angelina's bed. She picked up a swingy little red number. "Well, maybe if we did a little bit of . . ." and Ginny gave her wand a little wave. The straps on the dress widened just enough to cover a girl's shoulders. The neckline inched up a couple of inches higher . . . just enough to project the desired appearance of modesty.
"Er, it's better, but is blood-red really an Easter color?" Angelina asked with a skeptical expression.
"Hmm . . . I don't reckon pink would look good on you, Angelina . . . how about . . ." and with one more flick of her wand, the dress went from a deep scarlet to a brighter, lighter red with a undertone of orange.
It looked like the red of a spring-time sunset.
Angelina couldn't help but be impressed.
"I'll be damned . . . that actually looks rather holiday appropriate," Angelina said, nodding and grinning in satisfaction.
Ginny flashed her a bright smile. "Seven years at Hogwarts and the most useful thing I learned were basic clothing Transfiguration spells." She laughed and sat down on the bed. "You seem really stressed. It's just an Easter Egg Hunt, Angelina. You've done a bang-up job with putting it all together."
Angelina looked over at Ginny, who was making her very uncomfortable with the overly searching gaze she was giving her. "What's that look for, Weasley?"
Ginny set her mouth in a thin line. "It's not often that I see the blunt, straight talking Angelina Johnson in such a tizzy, but, then again, I've noticed that you seem to be getting more and more . . . oh, what's the word . . ." Ginny said, making a big show of looking around for just the right descriptive, "well, nervous . . . fluttery . . . like you're gonna toss your biscuits . . . anytime you might possibly see my precious brother."
Angelina stared at Ginny, a look of shock crossing her face.
"Please," Ginny said, rolling her eyes and smiling, "do you really think I'm that blind? It's as plain as the nose on your face that you fancy George. You've fancied him for a while, and you're too scared to fess up to him."
Angelina's face fell and she plunked herself down on her bed. "Ginny, it's . . . it's . . ."
"It's what?"
"AARGH!" Angelina smacked her head with her hands, keeping her face covered. "It's wrong, innit?" she muttered in a muffled voice. "For me to feel like this, right?"
"Why the heck would it be wrong, Angie? You and George deserve some happiness, after all."
"B-but, he's Fred's brother! His twin brother!" Angelina brought her hands down and looked at Ginny desperately.
"Is that the only reason you like him?" Ginny asked with a twinge of suspicion.
"NO! Godric! Bloody hell no . . . I've never, never ever thought of George as Fred's replacement or anything like that! He's always been George . . . George first and foremost."
"So what's the problem then?" Ginny sat besides the older, troubled girl.
"It's . . . people've already made comments to me about us, y'know? My own mum and dad keep asking me, 'But is it healthy for you?' or, 'There are other men out there, Angelina . . .' and I know they all mean that there are other men that don't look a helluva lot like Fred, but . . ." Angelina trailed off.
Ginny licked at her lips and addressed Angelina. "Why don't you just say what it is that you like about George? Tell me. Practice on me . . ."
Angelina blinked for a long time. With a deep and slow intake of breath, she let the words roll off of her tongue. "George looks me in the eyes whenever we're talking; he's always done that, y'know. And his face remains so calm, so straight when he listens to me . . . it's like he's not thinking of any funny comment or sarcastic line . . . I've noticed that he has this way of looking at someone, whether its me or you or one of his brothers, like he wants to understand what you're saying. Yeah, he's got that same wit . . . that same sense of humor as Fred and he'll make his jokes but he'll always temper it with something nice or sweet about you . . . and you know he's been listening and watching you this whole time and just wanting to say something and he'll blush and stammer and ramble and it's never really organized . . . and I love his laugh, Ginny. He laughs in these loud barks and his whole body shakes and jumps every time he does it and when he giggles or snickers about something, it's smooth and full and filling, y'know? It's like . . . really good, rich milk chocolate . . . something that makes you feel good from the inside because it's sweet and pure and it's just so, so . . . so warm and so bloody good . . . and I miss it when he's not around, and I find myself trying to copy the way he sounds so it seems like he's near . . ."
"You realize that now you're the one rambling, right?" Ginny gently interrupted. Angelina looked at her and bit her lip.
"Am I insulting his memory — Fred's memory — if I try to start something with George? I shouldn't . . . I can't. . . ."
Ginny shook her head. "Love ain't Quidditch, Angelina. There's no rules about what's right or wrong. You just feel it, right?" Ginny put her hand on the older girl's shoulder. "If George — and just George — is what makes you happy, then you should let it just be . . . It's been two years for the both of you, and I don't think there's a one of us that doesn't owe you a debt of thanks for helping him find himself again after the war."
Angelina neither moved nor gave any indication to acknowledge Ginny's sentiment; instead her gaze shifted to the floor.
Ginny gave her a quick pat on the back. "C'mon then. Let's get ready for the festivities today!"
Angelina had just slid down the side of the Burrow and shut her eyes. Apparently, she hadn't counted on three hours of running after the children participating in the Easter Egg Hunt itself, nor had she realized just how tiring it was to be the sole coordinator and person responsible for the entire event.
And the day ended up being so . . . so . . . hot! Angelina was definitely now suffering from an excess of feminine "sparkling," as her mum had once so delicately put it. . . .
Meaning she was sweating like a sow.
Right now, she was fine letting Mrs. Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny handle the children. The children who were screaming, running around, having the greatest time . . .
"Oi . . . sleepy-head. Wakey-wakey!" came a voice from above.
Angelina's eyes flew open and she was startled by the sight of a brightly-colored egg less than an inch from her face.
"Wha' tha?!" she started. Looking up, she saw the smiling face of George Weasley.
"Bloody hell, Weasley! At least now I get where your sneaky little sister got her stealth from . . . both you and her need to get out of this annoying habit of sneaking up on me unawares."
"Oh, c'mon Angie," George said as he slid down the side of his house to sit beside her, "it's merely the element of surprise! Plus, I come bearing gifts." Flashing her a charming, lop-sided grin, George offered her the egg.
Angelina felt her face grow warm and she prayed that her blush would go unnoticed. Very pointedly not looking at George, she took the palm-sized object into her hands. On the egg, Angelina saw what looked like a picture of a pastoral setting, with the sun rising and shining upon a green and grassy field and trees blowing in a gentle breeze. Angelina watched, utterly mesmerized, as the sun drifted behind the trees and the rolling hills. The light retreated from the green field and the bright blue sky on the egg was replaced by a deep, dark blue with twinkling stars dotting the night in small bursts.
Without a doubt, it was the most magical, the most beautiful thing Angelina had ever seen.
"Fleur gave one to each member of the Weasley family and Ron and I are looking into adapting this idea for our shop." George put his hand behind the egg and leaned in closer to Angelina. "This is called a Jour-à-Nuit Oeuf. Which, in Fleur-speak, means 'Day-to-Night Egg'."
"Sounds prettier in Fleur-speak," Angelina said in a whispery voice; she was completely entranced by the Oeuf.
"Fleur said the Oeuf is a tradition within the old French wizarding families. When a loved one dies, each family member is presented with this," George gestured to the egg, "after some time has passed. Fleur said that, usually, the family is given the Oeuf around a year after the death of the family member. It has a couple of meanings . . ."
"Time passes and a new day begins?" Angelina said, turning to face George.
George nodded slowly and smiled at her. "Fleur said it symbolizes the continuation of life . . . well, as much as it can, cycling through the same image over and over and over . . ."
Angelina shook her head. "No . . . not the same day. It looks like the Oeuf does show a new day. I mean, look here . . ." Angelina pointed at a tiny flock of birds flying in the daytime sky. "I didn't see those birds before."
"Blimey! You're right," George said in breathless amazement. "I never noticed that before, Angie."
Angelina nudged him with her arm. "See? What would you do without me, eh?"
To her surprise, George's smile melted into a softer expression and he regarded her with a gentle expression.
Angelina poured all of her energy into focusing solely on the Oeuf . . . not on George.
If George continued to look at her, and if Angelina continued to look at him, she was sure she'd do something rather stupid.
Like kiss him . . .
So, instead, Angelina handed the Oeuf back to George and leaned her head back on the side of the house. She rolled her head over toward her friend. "Y'know what Easter means to Muggles?"
George looked at her, his own head reclined against the side of his family's home. "Nope. Enlighten me."
"It's a religious holiday for Muggles, not necessarily for all Muggles, but for a large number of them. It's a celebration of rebirth, of new life, of spring and nature."
"Really?" George said in a languorous, but contented tone.
Angelina nodded, continuing to look at George and smiling. "It's about resurrection . . . giving life to something that was once thought to have died . . ." Angelina trailed off, worried that she had said something inappropriate.
"It makes sense, then," said George.
Angelina was relieved that she hadn't offended George . . . but was now a bit confused. "What do you mean?"
George shrugged and smiled at her. "Dunno. It's felt like I've just been wandering around, feeling empty . . . incomplete . . . and I'm not just talking about my ear," he said, gesturing to the right side of his face. Angelina couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'm better now, Angie. I feel like . . . like I'm alive again. Like," George halted and coughed awkwardly. "L-like I'm me."
Angelina's smile grew even wider. "I'll sound like a total sap, but I couldn't be happier, George."
George smirked at her. "You're right . . . you do sound like a sap."
Angelina elbowed him. "Oh, shut it, Weasley!"
"So many have tried, Johnson. But so many have failed," came his reply. Angelina watched as something flashed across George's face. His expression lost that cheekiness that had been present earlier, and Angelina watched as his eyes, his face fell into a serious expression.
He looked at her . . .
He leaned forward . . .
And Angelina, anticipating what he was going to do, leaned toward him as well . . .
And George lifted his head just a tiny bit and touched his lips to her forehead.
Holding in a sigh of disappointment that he hadn't been aiming for her mouth, Angelina closed her eyes, letting the sweet sensation fall on her, the waves of tingles rolling down her spine. . . .
"ANGIE! ANGIE!"
Angelina and George broke apart, surprised at the squealing, giggling sounds of two children running toward them, their baskets filled with a variety of magical sweets and painted eggs.
"Lookit wha' we go- . . ." a little boy said, his face twisting into a grimace. "EWWW! You let him kiss you! Cooties! Cooties!"
Robbie Teppins, George and I are very good friends, I'll have you know," Angelina spoke in a gently indignant tone, meant to set the child straight.
"Yeah . . . and anyway," George piped up brightly, "what makes you think I'm the one giving Angie cooties?"
Angelina smacked George in the chest. "George! Don't encourage them."
George laughed as he rubbed his body. "Well, it's true. It's sex-based discrimination, is what it is!"
"Wha's sex-based discrimin-i-did-dation, Angie?" a little girl asked her.
Angelina groaned. "Dorothy, it'll take forever to explain that to you. Just say that all women are superior to men. Blokes would never get anything done without us."
"I'm definitely not gonna argue with that," George replied and winked at Angelina. He gestured with his head. "C'mon, Angie. Wanna go check up on everything? We can snag some Choco-Bunnies before they hop away . . . literally!"
Angelina smiled at him. "Absolutely." She stood up too quickly and wavered a slight bit. A small breath escaped her as she felt George's arms circle around her waist . . . steadying her . . . almost embracing her.
Their eyes met.
A moment passed between them.
A single moment . . . and Angelina felt something shift, something change between her and George.
Swallowing, not wanting to break from this moment, Angelina took a breath. "Come with me? George?"
George nodded, never once breaking away from her gaze. "Always, Angelina. Always."