AN: You know what's seriously beginning to irritate me? All the Harry/Hermione crap floating around out there. For goodness sake! Were we all reading the same book? I loved Ron and Hermione from the get-go. However, I assumed that J.K., like all authors, would stick Harry with Hermione, and forced myself to see the good points of Harry and Hermione. It was mid-way through third book, when Hermione and Ron made up from that enormous fight that it suddenly hit me. Rowling was going to really do it! She was making Ron and Hermione canon! Since then I have been the definition of a die-hard Ron and Hermione fan. I don't understand how one could not be. Harry and Hermione would be bored stiff with each other within a week, honestly.

The point of this rant? There isn't one, really. I just needed to get it off my chest. That, and it explains partially why Ron and Hermione are having their ceremony like three months after they actually got married. Well, that, and it really fit in with where I wanted to go with this chapter.

Disclaimer: Time to play another game of "If I Owned Harry Potter ..."! If I owned Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione would have spent a good deal more of DH making out. They didn't, so safely assume I was not in charge of any decision making as far as that goes.

The breeze blowing across the Burrow seemed to have a personality of its own; if it took a body, it would mostly likely be that of a small kitten. It was eager to play with all the inhabitants it found, resting in their rickety chairs on the hill as the sun came down. Whistling through ears and tufting hair, the breeze made its delicate way to the front of the gathering. There, the dress of the bride billowed slightly to reveal the wearer's previously offending ankles and the edges of the groom's robes lifted to reveal the tiniest of white scars on his left wrist. The breeze smoothed and rubbed itself over these, then swept back into the crowd, purring sweetly as it touched hands, legs, and noses.

The only person who really noticed the unseen invader was the red-haired man closest to the back. George rather appreciated the feel of the wind against his scab. It was sort of reassuring, in a weird way, like someone patting the side of his head jovially.

In spite of himself, he couldn't help the smallest of smiles creeping over his lips. Ron and Hermione had never looked so happy, in spite of the fact they'd been married for a few months already. Ron's eyes shone brightly under the red stubble of partially grown eyebrows. Hermione kept jiggling spontaneously, almost as if everything were too good to be true, and she was about to burst with it. As much as George wished he was sickened by this, as would be proper, he just felt ... happy. And a little lonely.

Vaguely, he could hear snippets of speech from the shrimpy man who was performing the perfunctory ceremony. Without warning, Ron practically leapt forward and scooped Hermione up, his lips landing on hers with a kiss that was only written about in the sappiest of romance novels. George stuck two fingers in his mouth and let go an ear-splitting whistle. He was the older brother, after all.

Somehow, through great skill and impeccable timing, he managed to avoid seeing his mother all the up until it was time to cut the cake. This was even more amazing considering that only about thirty people had come to this wedding. Everyone else rather assumed that they would be stood up again.

However, she cornered him in the end. As the not-so-newlyweds, beaming almost indecently, pushed cake into each other's faces, George smelled the combination of cinnamon and worry that meant his mother was upon him. Before he could even turn his head to verify this, her voice was in his ear. "Hello, George."

He whirled about, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead and his jaw dropped. "Mother!" he cried in mock surprise. "Absolutely spiffing! Imagine seeing you here, darling." He shook her hand robustly. "How's dear Arthur? And the children. Are they well?"

"George," Molly said, annoyed. "You shouldn't act that way. Though, of course, you're here so rarely these days ..."

"I have to grace the rest of the world with my presence," George replied gravely. Too late, he remembered where he had first heard that expression.

Almost as if she read his mind, Molly brought up Mia right away. "So where is that ... girl?" She put an emphasis on girl as if she wasn't entirely sure this was the correct term. When George remained silent, she pressed on. "She seemed very, well, interesting, and I just wanted to talk to her about ..."

For the second time, George cut his mother off. "There's nothing left to really talk to her about," he informed her dully. "Look, there's Charlie." Before his mother could say anything more, he was off like a shot towards his older brother. "Charlie!" he cried, dragging down on his brother's arm. "Walk with me. Talk with me. And whatever you do, don't look back."

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"Don't forget, a representative of the Ministry is coming by today. If it's not Kingsley, or Harry, or my dear brother, do be a dear and treat them horribly. Especially if it's a sketchy sort of bloke with hair that looks as if it's been plastered to his head. In fact, if he comes, overcharge him. And perhaps set him on fire."

Brenda nodded smartly. "Bloke with wonky hair. Got it."

"That's why I actually pay you more than anyone else," George informed the motherly woman in a conspiratorial whisper. "Percy keeps demanding to know where all that extra money is going, but I just tell him that employees shouldn't ask impertinent questions." He winked at her largely and patted her on the back.

Brenda smiled up at him warmly. "As well you should. But then, here I am about to ask such a question myself."

George cocked an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? Put me down as intrigued."

"Where's Mia gone?"

If George was surprised before, he wasn't sure there was a word for what he was now. "Erm ... you know Mia?"

His favorite employee simply kept smiling her sweet smile.

Suddenly uncomfortable, George licked his lips. "She ... well, I haven't the slightest, actually. But I'm fairly sure she's not coming back, at any rate."

Brenda shook her head. "She was a flight risk, that one. Kept asking about things like if I ever stopped to look at cloud shapes. But she cared about you."

"I'm not so sure."

"She'll be back." Brenda's voice was confident. She reached up and patted George's cheek. "You'll see."

George grinned down at her ruefully. "You know, I once told someone I thought she might be taking advantage of me. I reckon I was right."

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This was stupid. This was very, very stupid. This was stupid enough that he could easily picture some love-struck sap doing it. Like Percy over Penny.

Knowing this didn't stop him from continuing to lay flat on his bed, staring at the spot where he had kissed Mia that last time.

It had been a month. It had been four weeks, precisely, in five minutes.

He hated this. Looking back, he realized he'd never stood a chance. Never had he entered into something this big so alone. There was no other half to tell him what to do anymore. And Mia was too much for any one person to handle on his own.

George sometimes wondered where it had all gone wrong. He had been fooling around, and then he was falling for a girl that was completely untamable.

He tried not to think about it, mostly. At night, though, when he nothing in his bed but covers and pillows, he couldn't help himself.

How does one move on from something that was never defined?

Two minutes to a month.

There had been some part of him that believed that she'd come back. A creak on his steps would send him jumping towards the door. Every time the bell at the front of the store jingled after normal hours, he'd be there instantly, shoulders slouching when he couldn't spot a blue hair anywhere.

He had some pride, though. In four weeks he hadn't gone near the Leaky Caldron.

One month.

A knock startled him out of his stare. Grumbling mutinously, he hauled himself upwards and ambled towards the door. "I'm not really in the mood for talking," he called loudly as he twisted the handle, "so you should probably just ..."

He had to blink a few times. Because he couldn't possibly be seeing Mia standing just in front of him.

She looked perfect and very different than he'd remembered at the same time. She was shifting from foot to foot like a naughty schoolchild. "Hi," she said plainly.

George nodded. "Hello."

"It's been a month."

"Happy anniversary, sweetheart," George replied enthusiastically.

She accepted his sarcasm as if it were penance. "I shouldn't have left."

"No, you shouldn't've."

He swung the door shut smartly in her face.

AN: Kinda short, but what the hell. I like it a bit better than the last one, but it could be the hour talking (wa-hoo for it being 3 AM). Also, while I hate reading angst, it's fun as hell to write. Also, I like Brenda, when she pops up. Its fun, letting George have a second mother just for him. Now, two reviews will not be accepted a third time. I now threaten something drastic. So, go! Love? Hate? REVIEW!!!!!