Hey guys! A sequel to "Watching", set a couple years in the future. Many, many, MANY thanks to Zombie Reine for the idea for this story! You are awesome, and I have totally enjoyed messaging you these past few weeks. Days. Whatever. xoxox. This is only chapter one and I'll probably post chapter two in a couple of days, depending on how many reviews I receive. Yes, I'm a review whore. Hah.

Disclaimer: All settings, characters and such belong to J.K.R.

George Weasley rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to warm them up. He checked his pocket. Good, everything was set. He'd been planning this for days and it was an absolute secret – not even Fred had guessed, and Merlin knew how hard it was to keep anything from his twin. Only Ginny knew, because he had needed her advice with regard to The Most Important aspect of it.

Peering through the lace curtain, he grinned to himself as he spotted his girlfriend of three years standing by the pond. She was most likely looking for stars, as she usually did at this time of night. And – right on cue, she turned and climbed up on the low branch of the tree next to her.

He watched as she swung her legs in a childlike manner. He loved when she let loose a bit, became younger for a little while – and most often, it happened around this time.

George Weasley loved the predictability of his girlfriend. But as she suddenly stood up on the branch, took off her shirt and dived into the pond, he admitted to himself for possibly the seven-hundredth time that he loved her unpredictability too. She sometimes exhibited very un-Hermioneish behaviour, as at the present time, and he grinned at her spontaneity. She probably knew he was watching, he watched her every day before coming out to sit with her.

But not today. He fully intended to change the routine – for the better.

A slim, curvy form pulled itself out of the water and shrugged on the shirt again. She brandished her wand, most likely casting Warming and Drying charms on herself, and climbed back up on the tree. Rather than sitting, however, she lifted her arms and hauled herself onto the next branch up. Her small frame climbed higher and higher, and the only thing keeping George from going out and stopping her was that he knew that she would stop if she went too high.

She came to rest on a fairly thick branch about three metres from the top of the towering tree. It had been there in the garden since before George was born – before Bill was born, George knew. His mother had planted it as a house-warming of sorts.

For half an hour, he waited at the window, and she waited in the tree. It was tough work, trying to outlast her tenacity, but he persevered. He could never tire of looking at her anyway, right? That was why he'd gone to the jewellery store the other day, Ginny in tow. That was why the item he bought was currently encased in a little black box in his pocket.

He gulped slightly as she climbed down from the tree. He knew she'd be annoyed that he hadn't come out to sit with her, so he'd tried to prepare something to mollify her. With a flick of his wand, the kitchen walls turned to red and gold, the counters and stove vanished, the dining table disappeared and the only item left in the room was a tiny table bearing chocolate cake and a small key. He'd tried to represent everything she loved in the once-kitchen – red and gold for Gryffindor, chocolate, her favourite thing to eat, a key to symbolise home and love. And it wasn't just any key, it was a Portkey. One that would take them somewhere private the moment she accepted.

Through the years, he'd learned of her dislike for anything over-the-top romantic, so he'd vetoed Ginny's idea of soft music in the background. He hadn't made up a speech about his love for her; he hadn't ordered a bouquet to present to her. Instead, he had put together a room containing the three things he would promise her: chocolate, love and himself.

With a grimace, he remembered the slightly embarrassing conversation he'd had with Ginny the other day after she has walked in on himself and Hermione while they were… otherwise occupied.

"You guys really need to cast anti-Apparition charms and block your Floo!" she had screeched when she came back later.

"You need to stop blaming us for the fact that you walked in while we were… erm…" Hermione trailed off.

"In the throes of passion?" George suggested.

"Yes. That."

"Who the heck does it in the living room?" Ginny asked.

"You and Harry," Hermione answered patiently. "I Flooed to your house without calling and erm… yeah." Ginny blushed.

"Yeah, I don't want to hear about my baby sister's sex life," George put in from the side. The two women sighed and rolled their eyes.

"Anyway, I have that meeting to get to," Hermione sighed, picking up a file folder and standing. George automatically stood with her, their movements so synchronised, it was like they were two parts of one machine. He tugged the collar of her white Muggle corporate-looking shirt until it sat straight and kissed her gently on the lips.

"It will be successful," he reassured her, his hand slipping down to squeeze hers. "I'll probably be down at the shop when you get back," he reminded her, and she nodded.

"I know. And if you're not, -"

"You call me straight away," he finished for her. "And I'll come and get you."

"Bye, love," she said, smiling. "Wish me luck!"

He walked her to the door and watched as she strode to the Apparition point, turning on the spot in mid-stride. Closing the door with a snap, he turned to face his sister.

"So, dear sister, to what do I owe this visit?" he asked politely.

"You two look so cute together," Ginny gushed, sounding oddly like Lavender Brown. George had run into her at WWW the previous day and he still shuddered when he thought about her attempts at flirting. "You should do it, George," she said abruptly, breaking into the haze of horror he had entered when confronted with the idea of Lavender Brown.

"Do – what?" he asked, bewildered. Was his sister suggesting –

"No, you prat," she snapped, flicking his forehead with her index finger. "I Flooed in the other day without calling. Hermione wasn't home. I saw you pacing around the kitchen, practicing." She leaned closer and George scowled as he realised that someone knew his secret. "You're going to propose!"

He nodded, unable to keep a smile off his face. After over three years of dating, he felt confident that she would say yes. The thought of Hermione Granger officially becoming Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley was enough to make him grin like a lovesick fool.

"When?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts yet again.

George mumbled something. She prodded him in the side when he avoided her eyes and he squirmed away from her fingers.

"What?" she asked, grabbing his chin. As she did so, she noticed that it was smooth and smiled in triumph. Hermione's influence. All the Weasley men thought they looked absolutely dashing with stubble – they didn't. Hermione had obviously cured George of the awful stubble.

"Iaventboarig," George muttered. Ginny sighed in exasperation.

"Don't make me ask again," she warned. "What the hell are you saying?"

George cleared his throat. She waited. He cleared it again. Her foot started to tap. Recognising it as a sign of impending danger, he cleared his throat one final time before admitting it. "I haven't bought a ring," he said, shamefaced.

But his sister's reaction was absolutely unexpected. "Reallllllly?" she squealed. "Can I come with you to pick out a ring? Please? Please? Please?"

George stopped her before her repetitions became too annoying. He really didn't have willpower when it came to Hermione or his sister.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'd been planning to ask you for help anyway," he lied. Her face glowed, and she immediately grabbed her handbag from the sofa.

"Wha –" he began, but he never got the word out. Ginny commandeered his arm in a vice-like grip, dragging him out the door and to the Apparition point. He barely had time to cast a Locking charm before she Apparated away.

Unfortunately for George, letting his sister help him pick out a ring resulted in what was possibly one of the most tiring afternoons of his life. It started off all right; he was excited and everything. But as the siblings went into jewellery store after jewellery store, his excitement wore off to be replaced by exhaustion. He was not bored; most certainly not. But as everyone who shopped with Ginny eventually discovered, her love of Quidditch was only topped by her obsessive need to find something PERFECT.

After visiting five jewellers, two silversmiths, two department stores and even a grotty little pawn shop, they entered a tiny jewellery store located in a dark alleyway off Diagon Alley. And it was there that they found the perfect ring – a golden, exquisitely carved band with tiny diamonds encrusted along the top and bottom. As Ginny took the ring to the counter and George removed his coin pouch from his belt, his wand vibrated. Cursing, he tossed the black, worn leather bag to Ginny and yanked his wand out of his cloak, putting it to his ear. "Hermione?"

"Hey, George," came the reply. "Where are you?"

"Erm – in Diagon Alley," he replied lamely. "I'll meet you at the shop?"

"Sounds fine. Love you," she said before ringing off. Even after three years, those words never failed to send tingles down his spine.

"I love you too," he said, and tried to put every ounce of sincerity he could muster into the four words. He muttered a spell to end the wand call and stuffed it back in his cloak.

"Got it!" Ginny crowed triumphantly. She threw his bag back at him and he secured it to his belt, holding out his hand for the neat black box she held out. He cracked it open, making sure it was the right ring, and put it with his wand for safekeeping before he Apparated himself and Ginny directly into WWW, almost squashing Fred in the process.

George's heart thumped in his chest as Hermione drew nearer and nearer to the kitchen door. He wondered in the back of his mind if all men got this nervous before proposing. As he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, he dug out the little box from his pocket and opened it, checking for the seventh time that night if the ring was still there.

A slight creak as the doorknob turned. He swallowed, his throat dry as he saw her silhouette through the frosted glass. She pulled the door slightly, turned the knob all the way to the right and pushed. The old door would open no other way.

Heart in his throat, he watched as she stepped inside and shut the door quietly, turning to hang her cloak on her designated hook – and then froze as she noticed the absence of one.

He stepped forward and her eyes widened as she took him in, and the room around him. Her eyes travelled once, twice around the room before returning to him, sweeping up and down his tall frame. She obviously appreciated his black button-down and dark-wash jeans. He cleared his throat nervously, imagining what Ginny would say were she eavesdropping – which she probably was. Stop clearing your throat, George. She'll want to take you to St. Mungo's.

"Hermione," he said, infusing his voice with the love he felt for her. "I love you."

Her expression, which had been steadily becoming stonier, softened somewhat.

"Why didn't you come out?" she asked quietly. "I waited."

George smiled slightly; he had been expecting the question. "I wanted a little variety in the routine. And – I planned this for you," he told her, motioning to the modified kitchen with a sweep of his arm. "I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

Her eyes zeroed in on the piece of cake and he grinned knowingly. She had a terrible weakness for chocolate and he had exploited it in every way. He stepped in front of it, obstructing her line of vision, and waited.

Right on cue, Hermione scowled.

"Not yet," he warned her. "You'll get your chocolate cake – but first you need to answer a question."

"Okay," she said, looking curious. George started getting slightly suspicious. Not that he wasn't happy that things were working out so smoothly, but he had expected her to figure it out by now.

"Hermione, you are everything I could look for in a woman. We –" he paused to take a breath and he watched her face carefully. "We've been dating for over three years, and I think," he slipped his fingers into his pocket for the black box, locking his fingers around it, "I think it's time that we –"

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

Yawning loudly, Ron Weasley stumbled into the kitchen, dressed in striped pyjamas that were a little too short around the ankles.

"Milk," he groaned, not noticing the decoration – not even noticing Hermione and George, who very both shooting Ron looks. Hermione was staring at him in disbelief – who wakes up to drink milk at midnight? – and George was glaring daggers at him.

Despite the gazes drilling holes into his back, Ron slouched dazedly to where the ice pantry was – the wizard version of a refrigerator. As his hand groped uselessly in midair for the handle, it finally clicked.

"Milk?" he asked stupidly. It was only then that he noticed he had company.

"Ron? Out." George snarled. Ron blinked once, twice, three times. His groggy eyes took in the red-and-gold, the cake, the key, George with a hand in his pocket, fingers clenched around what looked like a small, square box.

George waited for it to click.

And unfortunately, because it was Ron, it didn't. He did, however, mumble something about 'sorry if you guys were busy' and shuffle out of the kitchen, milk-less. George ran a hand through his hair and turned to face his girlfriend – who was nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, he ran in to the living room, his eyes sweeping each corner for signs of tangled chestnut hair. He spotted it hanging over the edge of a couch and crept over to investigate.

His heart sank. Everything had been going so well, why did Ron have to bungle it up? As he stared at his sleeping girlfriend with tenderness and more than a hint of annoyance towards Ron, he pulled out the ring box one more time.

"I'll make a Plan B," he promised it. "You are not going to waste." Sighing, he conjured a blanket and tucked it around Hermione, getting another one for himself. He settled down on the floor next to the sofa and flicked his wand at the kitchen. Although he couldn't see, he knew the furniture had reappeared and the walls were back to normal.

A good plan down the toilet.

He snuggled deeper into his blankets, mind already whirring. Plan B needed to be more subtle, needed to have more of the surprise element and most of all – needed to be distraction-free.

He smiled as a line of action occurred to him. Nothing would stop him this time.

R&R! Hope you enjoyed it. Keep your eyes open for chapter two!