Aaaaand here's chapter four! My longest one yet (in this story). This was originally meant to be two separate chapters but I didn't want you guys to get sick of waiting. And you better appreciate my efforts, because I risked my father's wrath (bad) and my mother's incessant nagging (worse) for this. Enjoy. Appreciate. R&R. xoxo

Disclaimer: My writing doesn't hold a candle to that of JKR, and I doubt she'd publish this anyway. So yeah, I don't claim any credit for the characters, settings and general plotlines of this story.


The day was Friday.

"You're fucking kidding me."

George Weasley groaned and his face dropped tiredly into his hands. Today was Friday, and Hermione's birthday was on Sunday. He was fast running out of inventive ways to propose and he was exhausted.

Peering blearily through his fingers, he took in the room.

Clothes were strewn across the floor of the room, remnants of his temper tantrum minutes before. The walls were painted a light blue and there was a matching shag carpet, although there were currently several pairs of George's boxers covering it. A four-poster bed, like a larger model of those in the Hogwarts dorms dominated the room, complete with midnight blue curtains. Light shone cheerily through the window, although if George could have tossed a pillow at it and its cheerfulness too, he would have done so.

He considered his options.

One, go to sleep.

Two… he had to admit, he really had nothing else. What else could he do at this point? He was dead tired from staying up fretting for most of the previous night. Even if he went downstairs and tried to propose – again – he probably wouldn't be able to get the words out without yawning.

He flicked his wand at the mess on the floor and all the assorted pants, shirts, boxers and socks flew back to their places in the drawers and cupboards, except for one purple sock that stubbornly remained on the floor. Sighing, he jabbed at it from where he stood. It twitched a bit but refused to move from the carpet. With a grunt, he gave it up as a bad job and fell backwards onto the mattress with a sigh of relief. Laying his wand on the bedside table, he drew the curtains shut and fell into darkness.


"I don't understand, Gin," Hermione whined. It was an uncharacteristic tone of voice for her and Ginny felt disconcerted hearing it.

"Don't understand what?" she asked, moving to put a hand on her best friend's shoulder.

"Why George won't propose. Goodness knows I've given him enough hints – and I'm sure he's tried to propose a few times, but somehow something always cuts him off. And I'm starting to wonder… I feel guilty for even thinking of it…" she trailed off, looking torn.

"Wondering what?" Ginny said coaxingly.

"I'm wondering if – that – maybe – "

"George is trying to avoid proposing?" Ginny suggested shrewdly. Hermione shuffled her feet and looked down. Ginny sighed, flicking her wand at the door. The sign flipped to "closed" and she strode around the corner, gripping Hermione by the shoulders.

"It's not what you think, 'Mione," she said earnestly. "I know you think he's avoiding proposing, but I promise you, he's not that dishonest. If he truly did not want to propose, he would have broken up with you by now."

"Then what is he doing?" Hermione cried.

"He's just – " Ginny flailed wildly around in her head for an excuse. "He's just – just – he's, erm, nothing. Just know that he's not running away from marrying you."

Hermione was bewildered, but accepted it reluctantly, figuring that it was the best explanation she was going to get.

She returned to working the counter – she worked part-time at WWW and Ginny had a free day -, ringing up stock and recording it in the inventory. Ginny automatically flipped the sign to "open" again and there was an immediate inflow of customers. Through the aisles, Hermione even managed to spot some of her school friends.

"Lavender," she greeted as the once-perky, now somewhat subdued blonde came to the counter with her purchase.

"Hi, Hermione," she said in greeting. Relieved to see that Lavender had stopped speaking in perpetual exclamation marks, she scanned the box of Daydream Charms with her wand, raising her eyebrows.

"Three Sickles and a Knut, please?" Hermione requested. As Lavender handed over the money, she read Hermione's expression carefully and grimaced at the look in her eyes.

"I just – Cormac, he's not around a lot of the time and – "

Hermione put a hand on Lavender's, gently. "You don't need to explain yourself, Lavender. This way is better than any other." She turned slightly and smiled at the toddler in Lavender's arms. With dark blonde hair, blue eyes and a mouth full of perfect teeth, Hermione could tell he was going to grow up to be a looker.

"This is Cameron, right?" Hermione asked, wiggling her fingers at the three-year-old. He laughed, grabbing onto one of them and holding tight. Snatching a candy up off the counter – a regular, non-dangerous one – she put it in his hand, blowing him a kiss as she did so.

"It was nice running into you, Hermione," Lavender said, a smile touching her strained features.

As she walked away, Hermione marvelled at the extent to which a person could change after school. She had seen Parvati the other day, too. She was now a top journalist for Witch Weekly and Hermione had hastened to steer clear. The last thing she needed was more publicity.

"Was that Lavender Brown I just saw?" exclaimed Ginny from the back room.

"Yeah," Hermione called back as she rang up another customer's purchase.

"And her son… Cameron, isn't it? How is he?"

"Hale and hearty, from what I could tell."

"And Cormac?" Ginny asked. Hermione kept silent this time. It wasn't her place to shout out Lavender's relationship problems to the store. She busied herself with the next customer and her thoughts returned to George. She sighed softly to herself and picked up the next item, a box of Puking Pastilles. A fond memory returned in the form of fifth year and 'Umbridgeitis', and her smile was extra large when she handed it to the eleven-year-old at the counter. How silly I am, she chided herself. George is an honest man. If he didn't plan on proposing eventually, he would have dumped you before now.

She returned to ringing up items, lost in the past.


George's waking dream was not pretty.

"Oh, please, George," Hermione sneered, hooking a lazy arm around Ronald's waist. "I had no intention of marrying you. It was just a fling!"

"How does three years count as a fling?" he protested, but it was barely audible over Ron's sadistic laughter.

"Who'd want to marry you? You work a joke shop, you can never be serious, you couldn't propose properly if you tried!" Ron shouted. George flinched back; his words were like icy shards of glass biting into his skin.

"Hermione?" George entreated. Quietly, pleadingly. She shook her head at him sadly and walked away, her hips knocking into Ron's with every step they took. The road in front of them blurred to whiteness and they became shrouded in it, leaving George calling out Hermione's name.

"Hermione – HERMIONE – NO!"

With a loud bang and several curses, George toppled out of bed. Still disoriented, he peered around him, at the tangled mess of blue curtains around his feet.

Footsteps could be heard crashing up the stairs, but he couldn't move, still locked in the frigid grip of his nightmare. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, he repeated to himself. Hermione burst through the door, hair frazzled in anxiety. She dropped to her knees beside him and cupped his face in her hands, her fingers anxiously stroking his cheeks.

"George? What happened?" she cried in shock.

His head had cleared a bit and his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. "Just – just a nightmare," he stammered past the awful images in his mind. His eyes captivated by her full, rosy lips, he didn't hear her next question until she prodded him in the ribs. When he looked at her questioningly, she repeated her question.

"What was it about?"

"I – nothing. It was just – silly dream…" he trailed off as the temptation became too much and swooped forward, effectively sealing her next words inside her mouth with a sweet kiss.

Her lips were warm, soft, and the corners tweaked up in a smile against his lips. His were rougher, slightly chapped. He opened his mouth slightly, testing, and when she showed no resistance, slid his tongue into her mouth. She moaned into the kiss, her hands fisted in George's flaming hair. He kissed her again and again, only pulling back when he couldn't take the lack of oxygen any longer, and only then to kiss her again.

When she finally pulled back, panting, lips swollen and her hair even more mussed up, it was with a sigh of regret. "We need to get this tidied up," she said ruefully, motioning at the mess of broken curtains. She stood up and flicked her wand at the mess, her nonverbal Scourgify decidedly more powerful than George's had been. The errant purple sock on the floor even folded itself and flew back into the drawer. He watched it grumpily. Stupid, stubborn sock.

"It's been a while since you've had a nightmare like that," Hermione observed quietly. "We've all had our share of nightmares about the war but most of us can sleep soundly through the night now. Am I right in assuming your falling out of bed was not war-related?"

He nodded, trying to push the nightmare out of his head. "It's not important. Never mind." He regretted his curt reply, but he did not want to think about Hermione wrapped around Ron. She drew back, looking concerned.

"Okay," she said softly, smoothing his hair. "You don't need to tell me." His face softened at her touch and he stood up slowly, swaying as he regained his balance.

"Everything's okay with the shop? No mishaps?"

"None," she confirmed. "Ginny had work, so I've taken a late lunch and closed the shop for the rest of the day."

"Ginny had work?" George said incredulously.

"Well, no, but I let her feed me the lie to make her feel better." While George shuddered at the thought of what Harry was doing with his sister, Hermione ambled away into the kitchen to make tea. He heard cups clanging and the kettle being filled and he pulled on a t-shirt, straightening his hair.

He had just slipped a ring onto his index finger when a series of girlish shrieks sounded from the kitchen. Snatching up his wand from the bedside table, he dashed into the kitchen to find two squealing women hugging each other and jumping around. He sagged against the doorframe, his wand hanging loosely at his side as he watched his girlfriend exclaim over Angelina Johnson's shoes and hair.

"Oh, I liked the braids," she said sadly, holding up a shiny, wavy lock.

"I'm just trying this style out. I can get them back in a second, Hermione," Angelina reassured her, flicking her wand at her hair. It immediately braided itself and with a second flick, was restored to its shiny self.

"Neat spell," Hermione said admiringly.

"Yes, this little old woman in Papua taught it to me. It came in very handy when I needed to attend some fancy function with Damien."

"How is he?"

"Damien? I couldn't care less. I dumped him, he was a sad loser."

Hermione gasped in surprise. George's smile turned tender; it wasn't often she indulged in gossiping and exclaiming over fashion. "How long ago was this – and why didn't you tell me!"

"About… six months ago?" Angelina confessed, guiltily. "I-was-in-Papua-and-sending-messages-is-difficult-and-expensive-and-they-use-giant-Papuan-native-birds-not-owls," she blurted out in a single breath, eyeing Hermione's wand apprehensively.

"Oh- well," Hermione said, deflating slightly. "Got your eye on someone?"

George thought Angelina was blushing, although it was a bit hard to tell under her dark skin. She avoided Hermione's gaze and her dark eyes instead lighted on George.

"George! How are you?" she cried with a tad more enthusiasm than necessary. He saw Hermione give an amused shake of the head and shot Angelina a wry smile.

"Still as subtle as ever, Angelina?" he asked teasingly.

"You're supposed to be helping me, fool," she snapped , brandishing her wand. He simply laughed at her, moving to wrap an arm around Hermione's waist.

"Sorry, Angie, but I am forced out of fear to side with my fian-girlfriend," he said, the smooth words marred at the end by his stutter. Intuition flashed in Angelina's eyes.

"Out of fear, eh?" Hermione asked, spinning to face him with arched brow.

"Out of adoration too, my love," George said sweetly in an attempt to pacify her. Hermione, taking pity, threw him a bone. She patted him on the cheek and turned back to the kettle, pouring the liquid out into three cups and adding milk and sugar. She handed George and Angelina a mug each and took one herself, leaning back against the counter. Blowing the hot liquid a bit, she took a tiny sip just as Fred Apparated in.

"Angie!" he cried in surprise, almost dropping the big box of goodness-knows-what in his excitement. "I didn't know you were coming back today!"

"Surprise!" she called belatedly. He scooped her up in a hug and both Hermione and George watched as Angelina's skin flushed a shade darker.

"I think I know exactly who she's got her eye on," George whispered. She nodded with a chuckle and they slunk out of the room and into the adjoining one, giving the duo some privacy. She finished her tea and set the cup on the coffee table.

Taking a pinch of glittering powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, Hermione tossed it into the flames and stepped in, calling out, "The Burrow!" Spinning around, she disappeared into the Floo Network, George right behind her.

"Right, why are we here?" George asked as he stepped out and shook some ash onto the mat.

"For some food," Hermione told him, cutting herself a piece of cake. "George, I thought your mother put an Anti-Apparition Charm on the house?"

"Yeah, she did," George confirmed.

"Why didn't she block the Floo? We can Floo to the flat and back."

"It's only to the flat," he told her. "Try Flooing anywhere else and you won't be able to move."

She nodded and started picking her cake apart, eating it little piece by piece. George let her eat in silence until an idea occurred to him.

As she was nearing the end of her slice, his hand darted out to snatch a piece. She glared at him but allowed it, merely breaking off the next piece. His hand flashed again, this time stealing a sizeable chunk of the remaining cake. There now remained only a very tiny piece – just enough for one person.

"George," Hermione whinged. "Stop." Her fingers reached out for the cake and George steeled himself. He was risking castration, but it was for Hermione…

His hand darted out a third time and he snatched the cake up, swallowing the tiny morsel without chewing.

A deathly silence filled the kitchen.

George looked up, eyes wide, an entreaty already forming on his lips. "I'll make it up to you!" he blurted out despereately.

"How?" she demanded. His fingers slid inside his pocket and grasped the little box and his heartbeat thumped faster and faster.

"Hermione, I sincerely apologise for nicking your cake. And to make it up to you, I have a request. Will you – "

And right on cue, Ginny and Harry burst through the door, entwined in a tight lip-lock. George and Hermione were, for a moment, too stunned to alert the couple as to their presence, but they were silent for different reasons.

Hermione really did know what George had planned – he rarely did something as risky as stealing cake without good reason, and she was disappointed that it had fallen through, as it seemed to have done the past few days too.

George was simply locked in incredulous despair. Of all times for a snog in the kitchen, Ginny, why now? And Harry, I had faith in you…

Someone cleared their throat loudly and the couple jumped apart, almost hitting opposite walls. As soon as she took in the scene in front of her, Ginny's expression dropped into one of bottomless horror and apology. Yeah, that's right, George snarled inside his head.

Without seeing what Hermione was doing, he strode out of the kitchen and spun on his heel to Apparate away. Instead, he landed on his arse on the grass. He'd forgotten the Anti-Apparition charms. Cursing, he stood and ran to the tree, climbing up into its limbs until the branches started to grow dangerously thin. And there he sat until the first tendrils of evening snaked over the horizon, until Hermione came out to the base of the tree and called him down. At the end of the day, everything he did, he did for her.


The day was Saturday.

George ambled into the flat's kitchen in nothing but pyjama bottoms and slippers, and almost dropped his empty teacup.

"Ginny?" he choked in shock. "Merlin, don't scare me like that." He sat himself at a chair and motioned for Ginny to do the same, but she remained standing, an ashamed look on her face.

"Gin?" he said tentatively. Fred, also half-naked and slippered, crept in behind Ginny and poured himself a cup of coffee. George's nose wrinkled involuntarily. Vile drink. Hermione had tried to convert him, to no avail.

"I'm sorry I wrecked your fourth proposal," she mumbled, hiding her face behind a curtain of red hair. "I know things on the proposal front haven't been going well and I –"

"Ginny," he sighed. "Leave it. I forgive you. It doesn't matter. Between today and tomorrow, I will get that ring on Hermione's finger." Her face brightened almost immediately and she bounced to the seat George had offered earlier.

"You'll find a way. It doesn't have to be elaborate and well-planned. Just get it on her finger before the inevitable chaos of a Weasley-organised birthday party-slash-homecoming celebration."

"Right. I'd forgotten about Percy and Audrey's homecoming. I'll get it done," he promised her, standing and stretching.

"I'll see you later, then," she called with a smile and a wave as green flames engulfed her.

Creeping into his and Hermione's room, he pulled back the curtain and peeked through. She was still sleeping, her curls golden in the sunlight that seeped through the curtains. She was like an angel, George thought to himself.

"Wake up, love," he said gently, touching her hand with the lightest of pressure. Even though she herself had requested the wake-up call, he really did not want to wake her when she looked so peaceful. She stirred slightly before falling silent again.

"Hermione," he tried again, this time a tad louder. "Wake up."

"George?" she asked sleepily. "What's the time?"

"Eight-thirty," he replied. "You asked me to wake you."

"Right. Yes. I did," she said absently, rolling over and closing her eyes again. He shook her shoulder.

"Hermione! Wake up!"

With a muttered curse, she threw back the covers and sat upright, her hair atrocious in its haystack glory. From years of living with her, he knew it would settle down after a few quick strokes of a brush but he always enjoyed seeing her just-got-out-of-bed hair.

"You asked me to wake you up," he reminded her nervously as her fingers groped for her wand.

"Yes, yes. I just need my wand to – " she shot a spell at her hair and it straightened out. "Too lazy to brush it right now," she explained.

"Oh, that's all," he said with relief. She grinned sleepily at him and swung her legs out of bed, stumbling a little as she crossed the room to the adjoining bathroom.

"Listen, love," he called over the sounds of running water and tooth brushing. "I was thinking of a trip to Hogsmeade today."

"What about the shop?" Hermione called back.

"Fred's taking care of it was Angelina."

Hermione stuck her head out of the door, eyes wide and foam smothered around her lips. "Do you fink deyll actlay magage de sop?" she mumbled.

"Blub blub blub," George mimicked. Rolling her eyes, she ducked around the doorframe and rinsed out her mouth before repeating the question.

"Do you think they'll actually manage the shop?"

"Doubt it, but they'll be forced to. Saturday is a busy day."

"Should we really be leaving, then?" The shower started running then and a towel was tossed to the floor.

"Fred hasn't asked me to go or to stay, but I know he wants some time with Angelina. He's always had a bit of a soft spot for her."

"Let's go, then!" she exclaimed. The water ran for five more minutes before it cut off and she emerged, a towel wrapped around her. George had her clothes ready and tossed them at her one by one, as per their normal routine. After pulling on the last item, a warm, long-sleeved shirt, she hung up her towel and took up her purse from the vanity.

"Wait!" she exclaimed as George gripped her arm and made to spin. "How will we get out? Molly's blocked our Floo and cast Anti-Apparition charms!"

"You see, my love," George began, "at the Burrow, miles away from all civilization, Muggles and other magical people rarely venture near. Thus, an Anti-Apparition charm can be cast over the whole street, and since the street is very long, it's tedious to walk to a point where one can Apparate.

"Here, however," he said smugly, pulling open the door with a flourish, "my mother can't. We will simply walk down to the Leaky Cauldron and Floo to the Three Broomsticks."

"Ingenious, George!" Hermione said warmly as he pulled the door closed. It locked automatically behind them and they strolled out of the shop with a wave and a wink to Fred and Angelina.

The day, although quite chilly, was bright and clear and George and Hermione spent the majority of their time in Hogsmeade wandering here and there in the hills that surrounded the village, only stopping to Apparate to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. After warming up a bit with some Butterbeer, the two of them set off in opposite directions – Hermione to the bookshop and George to the florist, where he bought a bouquet of bluebells with a single red rose in the centre. Enchanting his purchase with a Never-Wilting charm and with the help of Shrinking and Shape Retaining spells, he tucked the gift into his breast pocket and met with Hermione, where he Apparated the two of them back to Diagon Alley.

Fred and Angelina were nowhere to be found and the shop was deserted. George tapped the closed sign with his finger and chuckled. "Best not to risk going into the flat right now, I think," he warmed Hermione as she made to ascend the stairs. She blushed and back away, seating herself on the counter.

George took a breath. Then another. Please, Merlin, Morgana, any other deities. Help me. He knelt in front of her, his fingers slipping into his pocket for the box.

"Hermione Granger, I promise to love you for as long as I live. Will you – EURGH!"

"Oh, bloody Merlin, what on earth is that smell?" Hermione choked, a hand over her mouth in disgust.

It was like raw meat and rotting bananas and the stench of a urinal that had not been cleaned for a decade all mixed together. It was that and more, a smell to rival anything in the depths of hell. Coughing and spluttering, George pulled Hermione through the greenish fug to the door where they stood choking and inhaling for the next ten minutes.

"I – know a spell to get rid of it," Hermione gasped, drawing her wand.

"What is it?" George asked her, crouching against the wall.

"I have no clue, but I'm guessing it has something to do with her," Hermione said grimly, indicating a very familiar blonde.

"Luna," George groaned. "Go and sort it out then. But love," he added, catching her by the ankle, "be careful. Don't die in the fumes."

She nodded determinedly and squared her shoulders, yanking the door of the shop open and charging in. After a few moments of coughing and frenzied spell-casting, she emerged, casting numerous Scourgifies upon her person.

"Well?" George asked, rising from his crouch.

"Luna's fumigating," Hermione said sweetly, with an equally sweet smile to match. He wondered at her tone but didn't have to be curious for long – Luna emerged through the doorway, a mask over her face.

"Hello, Luna," George greeted as pleasantly as he could through gritted teeth. "What, pray, were you doing in the shop?"

"Oh, last time I was in here I noticed a lot of Wrackspurts," she said airily, waving a dreamy hand in the air. "I thought I should fumigate."

"Right, well – Luna," George started after a look from Hermione told him he needed to handle this one. "I really appreciate the gesture – and I'm sure Fred will, too – but next time you want to fumigate, try asking our permission first so that we could be better prepared? Hermione and I weren't ready for the stench."

"Oh, yes, I'll do that next time. Most people don't appreciate my efforts, you know," she said a bit sadly, twirling her fumigation nozzle. George watched it distastefully. "It was very sweet that you saw fit to thank me. Well, I'll be returning to the Burrow, then – Ron's waiting." With a skip and a hop, she twirled in midair and Vanished with a crack, leaving a stunned George and Hermione behind.

"If Ron ever marries her," George began hoarsely, "I hope he keeps her locked up in a padded cell."