A/N: Had to go back and edit this chapter since to have kids of age at Kings' Cross at the epilogue in DH, Percy needed to be married off already. Whoops. Now he is. ;D

Anyways, you're all cordially invited to accompany George Weasley to the wedding of one Ronald Bilius Weasley to Hermione Jane Granger. Hope you enjoy!


VII.

"Do you like it?" Ron asked, punch-pleased with himself.

George stared down at the squiggly lump of flesh in the mismatched wrappings and swallowed. He either wanted to hug Ron or punch him.

It took a long sixty seconds to resist the latter.

His brother bounced on his heels. "It's an ear," he explained helpfully.

"Oh thanks," George heard coming out of his throat. "Here I was thinking it was a nose, and as I'm not short one of those that I know of, I didn't know what to be doing with it. An ear, though…"

Ron laughed nervously. "I fiddled with one of the Extendibles, s'all."

"Yourself?" the same voice responded, to George's continued surprise. He tugged on the lobe.

The ear twitched itchily in its box.

"Yeah, I didn't even go to 'Mione," his little brother responded, chest puffing a little. Obviously, Hermione or Verity would have taken Ron aside and kept the carefully buffed perfect-sized ear from going into the carefully packaged little box and far, far away from George Weasley. "I got Harry, Neville, Seamus and Dean cufflinks- I've got some of those for you too, to match- but I wanted to give this to you now, since-" Ron flushed, rueful, "-I finished it and didn't want to wait until Christmas or your birthday rolled around since that'd be almost another year."

"And now I'll match, too," said George, eyes very wide still. "All your groomsman'll have two ears," he continued. The words came out surprisingly amused, so Ron, though watchful, didn't note any bitterness. George hoped.

"I suppose," Ron agreed warily.

George poked the earlobe. It was soft and gave way a touch, like cartilage. It sprang back into shape with startling enthusiasm. He looked up. "It was… this was… really… sweet of you, Ron."

"Sweet?" Ron repeated, sounding strangled. "Have you turned into Ginny?"

"The workmanship's excellent," he blathered instead of answering, "thought for a second you'd found and fixed the old thing from somewhere over Little Whinging… which would've been a tad disturbing… really thanks."

"Are you going to try it on?"

Ron Summoned a mirror from the other side of the flat as George tentatively picked it up. It squirmed like bait on a hook in his hand.

He placed it against the long-healed over indent and heard a sucking noise. George slowly took the mirror from Ron and, thankful he was seated, met his reflection's gaze warily.

The man in the mirror had two ears. Tentatively he reached up to touch the filled hole.

"Well," said Ron, with a deep swallow, resting his arm on the fireplace mantle. "That's tha-"

Green flames sputtered down and out from the chimney, roaring out and lapping warmly against Ron's ankles. He edged away. George rocketed upright in his chair, alarmed by the noise

A vaguely female figure stumbled out in a cloud of soot, carrying a crate marked 'Highly Flammable.' She sagged under its weight, which blocked her face entirely. "Might give me a hand!" Verity growled in a tone that threw daggers. She was as perfectly punctual as ever.

George sprang up, eased it out of her grasp, and plopped it down on the floor with extra exuberance. Ron eyed the label on the box and the receding Floo fire with a disturbingly Hermione-like sigh.

George straightened and grinned at her.

"Stop grinning like an eejit, Weasley, clearly you haven't been looking at the Hogsmeade profi- gaACK." Her head shot forward, goose-like, and her light eyes went wide. "Merlin's beard. George? That is so- ooooh."

"What do you think?" Ron jumped in eagerly.

Her head turned to Ron before whipping back to fixate on George's ear. "Bit weird."

His hand went self-consciously to the side of his head. "Yeah, it has been a while since I've been symmetrical."

Verity patted at her hair, giving her something to do with her hands. "Why the sudden- the new- the-"

"'Earing aide?" provided George helpfully.

Her lip twitched, though whether towards a smile or a grimace he couldn't say. "Yes, that."

George jerked his thumb at Ron, who widened his eyes innocently. "Don't you like it?"

She looked warily at George.

"Mum's going to have kittens," he said, creating his own conversation. "Dad's brought it up himself- he's still hoping I'll be the one to marry a Muggle, though it's always a lark at their pubs, telling them how it blew off… the gas leak in the hot air balloon bit's never gone over all that well, but the ladies always go for the motorcycle explosion…"

"It was an idea, s'all," said Ron, his own ears red. George wondered if the new one did that and contemplated the sight of himself with only his right ear red.

"It's a nice ear," he offered, scratching it. Verity was still gaping, which was bothering him. George reached out and tapped the bottom of her chin. Her mouth closed.

"Let's hope," said Ron, with a dismissive eye roll that finally dispelled the awkwardness. "Now hear, if it's a bad ear and won't listen to you, lemme know and I'll box it."

Verity groaned while George, solemn-faced, replied, "Thanks, but I'm sound enough to box my own ears…"

"Alright then," said Ron, rubbing his palms together. "I," he began, paling, "have cufflinks to distribute, but seriously-"

"Now that's too much!" exclaimed Verity, covering her eyes. They turned to stare at her.

The silence pervaded the flat until she peeked between her fingers.

"Have we finally driven you up the wall?" asked George mildly.

"No- but- didn't you say ear-iously?"

Ron snorted vigorously and George bit down on his lower lip trying not to cough. "That may," he said as Verity turned pink, "be the worst pun I've heard in seven years without an ear to itch. Maybe that's the real gift, Ron- the end to the bad puns. I reckon I've heard more than most folks do in a lifetime-"

"Not if your parents named you Sirius," he said astutely, pulling his wand out of his robes pocket. "See you-"

"At the Burrow in sixteen hours for your magical matrimony?"

"Sixteen?" Ron repeated, shoulders stiffening. His throat bobbed. He rapidly backhanded the air in a fast farewell and hurled himself towards the stair door.

"What, how much time he'd think he had?" asked Verity, bewildered.

"Dunno," said George thoughtfully. "He did sleep through yesterday, after the bachelor party." Wizarding bachelor parties were always two nights before the wedding. A day was standard recovery time for most minor magical mishaps. "Maybe he's about to be sick again. Hope he grabs a handful of Puking Pastille halves on his way out."

"Hope he grabs the right halves," retorted Verity.

He smiled. "Did I tell you about the time Fr-"

"To Katie Bell?" interrupted Verity in a tone of exaggerated patience. "Yeah, you did," she finished more gently. "Why didn't you ask her to the wedding?"

"What, Katie?"

"Yeah, Katie."

"What'd I be asking her for?"

"So you wouldn't be going alone."

He gave her a rueful grin. "Verry-"

"Oh that's just weird," she cut him off, staring at his ear. "Really George. It's giving me the creeps."

"Are you changing the subject so I won't apologize again for this Charlie-thing?"

"No," said Verity, shaking her blonde head. "The ear's honestly creeping me out- ooh, it's twitching- lookat it, what'd Ron do? What's it, alive or somethin'? Or are you making it do that?"

He resisted the impulse to look in the mirror. "Oh, I'm making it do that," he said. Though he couldn't actually feel the earlobe, he thought it should be stretching. "I think."

"You're so much more charming when you're not sure of yourself," Verity replied. He tried to boggle his eyes at her. He thought it was very strange. She scrutinized him, sizing him up. "Go with that. And you're already wearing a tux. I think you'll do nicely tonight, George."

"Now I know you're plotting revenge for the Charlie-thing."

She was still staring.

"What?" he asked, actually exasperated.

"I'm not trying to be funny but-"

"Great start, there."

"Shut it- are you actually wearing that- thing?"

George ignored the crackle of the flames behind them, raising his voice as they seemingly got louder. "It's my brother's wedding. He made it for me. And look at you. Look at your face. 'S fun."

"George Weasley, stop waggling it at me!"

"Erm," said Harry from the fireplace, brandishing the arm with George's stain and wrinkle-proofed tux draped over it before him like a shield. "Do you want me to come back?"

"Hi, Harry."

"George," Harry greeted him warmly, with another nervous look at Verity, who rolled her eyes. Then he frowned, forehead lines breaking the famous scar. "Did- you grow back your ear?"


Angelina didn't say anything about the ear. She'd been Ron's Quidditch captain, and he'd gotten Hermione to make her a bridesmaid. They needed a couple extra, since Ron's brothers alone stretched the number of Hermione's friends to be called upon, and then there was Harry and Neville, as well as Seamus and Dean, who'd both sulked enough over not being in Harry's wedding party that their other year-mate had no intention of repeating that mistake. Ron seemed to determined to blow up the Burrow with grandiosity, and Hermione, amazingly enough, was letting him.

George would be walking Angelina back down the aisle, and watching her come up it. He swallowed. Something tickled his throat uncomfortably. He blamed the glob of frosting he'd snuck off the wedding cake as Winky and the Hogwarts house elves floated it off. (Ron had no choice but to pay for the catering. A few of the house elves broke down sobbing, soaking their tea towels right through, when Ron cajoled them into accepting the Galleons. Hermione was telling the story left and right, describing it earnestly as 'weeping with joy'.)

It'd been a laugh walking down with her in rehearsal, a Muggle concept none of the wizards could understand since not even magic could stop unpracticed things from happening at weddings. Suddenly, though, it seemed very weird, having both ears on his head with her in lilac on his arm.

He might've been Fred, with her, at any of their brothers' weddings.

"My bowtie spins," he told her quietly. "Want to see?"

She looked at him wryly. "Will it stop spinning before you have to go out?"

"Not likely."

"You possibly should save distractions for the reception."

A flirty response to that was easy, but this was Angelina. "I might," he said as casually as he could.

Her lips half-parted, and he tilted the left side of his head towards her, waiting for some further comment.

Parvati Patil, in front of them introducing herself to Charlie, the groomsman she was paired with, rustled her skirts and complained about the color. Charlie, face beet-red and grumpy at wearing a monkey suit, shot a plaintive look at them.

"Who's Charlie here with?" Angelina asked calmly.

George cast a questioning look at her, mind wandering and wondering. Charlie had been her Quidditch captain, and his too, briefly. "Norberta."

"Who?"

"A dragon- no, I'm pulling your leg- I let him borrow Verity to stave off all the 'ooh, working-with-dragons-is-so-dashing'."

She smiled skeptically. "Sure you're doing him a favor?"

George smirked back. "So he says, though you wouldn't think so. It seems he has some lady friend in Romania, but he didn't bring her." He shrugged. "Bill and I reckon she's a vampire."

Her dark brows shot up and back down in a flash of amusement. "Wish he had. That might've been interesting."

"Louder, at least," George said, picturing his mother trying to politely figure out if a vampiress meant sharp-toothed grandbabies or none at all. "Though the wedding's loud enough already, next to Harry's." She'd brought Lynch to that. "You're here with Aidan?"

"Oh, I threw him over," said Angelina cheerfully. "I brought Dillon Troy."

Ron's expression when Krum arrived at the Burrow for the wedding and kissed Hermione's cheek in congratulations rose unbidden in George's mind and planted itself firmly on Fred's twenty-year-old face. He erased it as quickly as it came. Apparently she was off of redheads then, and onto brunet Chasers fresh off the Irish side's third straight Cup run and making the gossip rags when they ought to be retiring. "Good on you. Be sure to introduce me, his sort's always good for marketing."

"His sort, hmm?"

"The please-sign-my-Quaffle sort. Like Krum, or one better, Harry. I'm making bundles off of Harry. You know what the bolties and potheads'll pay for the soiled nappies of my nephew, heir to the Chosen One?" His smirk faded under her even gaze. "Not that I would ever exploit family like that," he said hurriedly.

"Never," Angelina agreed, smirking herself.

A dramatic crackling and crunching came from behind them, and George swiveled to see Hermione hoisting up her skirts, which made her look like a doll shoved into an enormous frosted cream puff. It was a decidedly Muggle-inspired dress robe, more on the side of dress than robe, and she looked like George's idea of what Muggles imagined fairies and good witches to look like. Her cheeks glowed with a sunlit hue and George had never seen her hair more coiffed or her teeth so white.

"I'll kill him," she swore, trotting forward in her heels with an expression that managed to be condolatory and enraged simultaneously. "George, I am so, so-"

"Dazzling," he finished, winking at her and tugging on his ear with a slight shake of his head. "Miss Hermione Granger- and that's the last time I get to say it like that, I suppose- you are a grand witch and a beautiful woman. I can't think of a wizard who deserves you, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do with Ron. Who loves you tremendously, so it'd be a little silly to kill him, really."

Hermione studied him momentarily, then threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. He could feel his cheeks go red. "You're exactly the sort of brother I never wanted and am very glad I'm getting, George Weasley."

"Getting? Ah, you always had us, Hermione." He battered at his red cheek and wondered absently if the fake ear was turning red too. Her eyes, George noticed with panic, were teary and knowing witches and their makeup, he blurted quickly, "Now, get back wherever you go and wait, before Ron steps out and I have to Obliviate him so he doesn't muck up all your luck seeing the bride."

"Oh, yes," she said, mixing warmth and nervous distraction as she stepped back and glanced at Angelina with a smile, "where's Ginny?" Her skirt dropping, she floated off.

Ron, looking sick, strolled out with Harry at his back to collect his groomsman.

"See you in a bit," said George congenially to Angelina, as he nodded to Neville he was coming. "Hey-" he started, struggling to find the words to say what should be, how he would have liked to see her walking with Fred through the Burrow's backyard with flowers in her hair. "-I like you in lilac."

"It's periwinkle," she said, rolling her eyes. "Go on, George."


He went to stand up for Ron, and help him stand up, and then found himself facing an evening of coming up with smart remarks for the ear questions murmured at him by Ron's friends and his big brothers.

"Holding up?" he repeated innocently to Rita Skeeter, wondering how in Merlin's name the old witch'd gotten into the Granger-Weasley reception. He had heard she'd retired to the social beat. He looked blankly at his empty hands. "Holding up- what, exactly?- wait a minute, let me see." George snagged a passing glass of champagne from the knee-level tray held by a passing house elf and balanced the base on his flat palm. He gave it a studied glance. "I seem to actually be very-" He let the glass and teeter and slosh onto the scribbling pad and quill, though not onto the woman's dress. She was a touch over the hill for him to find that particularly funny. The acid blue quill, Quick Quill's latest, went limp as it was soaked and started twitching spastically, squirting ink onto Skeeter's pale dress. "Ah. Possibly I'm not so good at this 'holding up' thing- here, let me-"

"No thank you," said Rita adamantly, moving quickly away from the napkins he was holding and clutching her champagne-soaked papers and limp quill. "I'll leave you as 'no comment'."

"Aren't you a dear," he said, in a bright tone, and, pretending to wave at Lavender Brown, steered himself away and after the departing house elf. George swooped up two champagne glasses, mostly to fill his hands and keep both away from the very tug-able, once-extendible ear and glanced over to the dessert table he'd departed to circle the dance floor. Ron and Hermione were murmuring, while Ginny keeping Victoire away from the heaping cake they hadn't cut yet and Harry jiggled two-month-old James gently. Fleur was nearer him, giving his second niece, Dominique, her floating teething ring.

He glanced away, and took another sip of champagne and relief.

A light, quick tap landed on his shoulder and he turned to see who had come up behind him. "George," said Katie Bell with a grin. "You're wearing a falsie?"

The laugh burbled out of him and he felt the instant urge to kiss her, which shook him to the core. He ignored it. "What," he said idly, "you'd rather the hole?"

"Holes have lots of possibilities."

He gaped at her as her face reddened as she broke into a fit of giggles. "Katie Bell," he scolded in his best Percy voice. "Where'd that come from?"

"I think," she said, holding up a finger to wait as she struggled to get her giggling under control, "from the mead. I like the mead, you should try the mead, it's goblin-grade mead-"

"That's the fourth time you've said mead."

"Funny that, I've had four glasses of mead. Took long enough for you lot to finish pictures, while we hopped around waiting for dinner. Where's your date?"

"Didn't bring one. Where's yours?"

"Lee's convincing the band to let him get up and sing with them."

George tilted his head at her. "Has he also been at the mead?"

"Nah," Katie said, flicking her hand dismissively. She beamed. "He's been at the nettlewine. What is it with you and not bringing dates to things?" she demanded, switching subject.

He frowned, confused. "What other thing are we talking about?"

"Yule Ball. Heard you didn't bring anyone to your oldest brother's wedding, either."

George thought. "Those," he said slowly, "were a very long time ago."

"Not so long. And Harry and Ginny's, too, that was only a year back, and here you are. Still dateless."

He rolled his eyes at her. "The idea," he explained, as if she was very dumb, instead of slightly drunk, "is to dance with other people's dates."

"Oh I see," Katie said quickly, brows arched. "Well. Look here, I'm an other people's date. Wanna dance?" she blurted.

"Seeing as you're an other people's date and all, how could I refuse?" George asked in mock-astonishment. The fake ear twitched.

Katie reached out and up, a question in her eyes that some amusement in his seemed to answer, and tugged on it. It stretched and shot back as she released it, slapping against his head with the sting of a shot rubber band. They stared at each other for a minute and
broke out into a fit of giggles.

George hadn't remembered he could giggle.

He reached up to the crease where it attached to his real skin and tugged on it. George pulled again and swore. The falsie stayed stubbornly attached. "It won't come off," he complained unnecessarily.

"Let me try," said Katie, reaching up again. She noticed Seamus Finnegan and Padma Patil watching them with keen interest and bit her lip to keep from giggling again. "Come over here," she said, crooking a finger at him with her brown eyes dancing.

He followed. Fleur noticed them departing and attempted to wink, which was one of the few things she was very, very bad at. She lifted Dominique and swept towards Bill. Inwardly George groaned.

They moved away from the music and ducked behind the glitter-spouting statue of an incredibly fat cherub.

She pulled her wand out of a fold in her polka-dotted dress robe, a pocket he hadn't spotted till she reached into it. Lips twitching in the rhythm of a laugh, she lifted it to his ear.

She was very close, he noticed, her chest almost leaning onto his. "Should I be letting you point that at my head?" he asked, adding more sheepishly, "Seeing as you're smashed and all?"

"Trust me," she said, near enough he could smell the honey and alcohol of the mead and a marshmallow scent, maybe from her lip gloss. "I still know what I'm doing."

He saw a trail of blue sparks, like the dying dust of a firework, drift close in front of his eyes, enough to make them water from the light, but felt nothing.

"Tada," she giggled, and the world sounded normal again, no echo and strong on only one side. Katie presented him a wriggling, unhappy ear on her palm like a platter.

He pocketed it beneath the white flower in his buttonhole. "Nice to not be stuck to it. You don't think I should leave it on, so as not to confuse anyone anymore?"

"I didn't think you cared what people thought," Katie said, tweaking his nose, "and it always seemed like you liked confusing everyone, George."

Her finger was still resting on his nose. "Quite right," he said, rather nasally, and leaned through the little space between them to plant a kiss on her lips.

She kissed him firmly back, smacking an extra against the side of his lips between breaths.

"Er," he said dizzily in a bit, rubbing at the sticking feeling of gloss on his face. "One thing."

She smiled giddily at him.

"You're a friend's date, and not only an other people's, so actually stealing you-"

"Friend's friend," she corrected, laughing and shoving his shoulder. "Lee fancies your shop girl. Who's here with your brother. Who-" she added, tugging on his bow tie and pulling him around to glance around the huge statue and through its shower of glitter into the barely unrecognizable backyard. Katie nodded at Charlie, who was filling up punch for his date and not noticing it was sloshing over the rim as he gestured animatedly. "Also fancies your shop girl?"

"Verity."

"Knew that," Katie agreed, lifting her finger and faintly swaying. "Lots of blokes seem to fancy Verity."

He considered. "I don't fancy Verry," he said, feeling it was honest. He really hoped Charlie didn't, either, since the prospect of Verity as sister-in-law was frankly terrifying.

"Oh good," she smiled like a fairy light and stepped back through the glitter. It lit her dirty blonde hair in a shower of gold, and she held out her hand. "Come dancing, George Weasley?"

George thought if Fred had had his wedding, he might have found himself dancing with Katie there. "All right," he said, and took her hand.

He danced carelessly with Katie Bell, watching Percy bend in half trying to dance with his two-year old daughter and Angelina whirl merrily between Lee and Troy. Hermione was badgering Ron back onto the dance floor, though he was trying to watch the finale of a drinking contest between Dean, Seamus and somewhat astoundingly, Neville, who could hold his firewhiskey.

It felt nice to be at his brother's wedding with a pretty girl's arms around him, and though the ear was nice, or at least mostly minded its manners, George had gotten used to his hole.

He would have liked to know what Katie was murmuring alongside the ear-that-wasn't, but as she shifted her head to his shoulder, George felt sure he could ask her later.