Shipping Shuffle Competition:
Billie Jean by Michael Jackson
Angelina/George
When she told him, he immediately offered to marry her.
He knew that a child out of wedlock was still extremely unacceptable, and it would be hard on Angelina in the first place. Dealing with that strain and the death of the father all at once would be too much.
So he proposed.
When he told his mum, Molly Weasley sighed with pleasure and cried. She didn't mention anything about the fact that they were getting married at age 20. George thought that it was probably because she wanted something to distract her from Fred's death. She didn't even make a big fuss about the short notice, just raised her eyebrows and nodded. She knew, and she assumed it was his.
George wished he could explain to his mum. He wished he could say that Angelina was not his lover, that the baby was not his, that he was just taking care of his brother's girlfriend because that's what Fred would have wanted.
But she wouldn't understand.
Angelina was a good, sweet girl.
But she wasn't his lover.
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," George smiled at Angelina, bending down and kissing her softly. She was still like a sister to him, but they managed it for appearances.
But over the past few weeks they had grown closer. Angie had moved in above the shop, (not that it wasn't like she was a permanent fixture there before) and she was helping out whenever she could. The two had grown closer over the talking they did, because both of them were traumatized by Fred's death.
The marriage was... working.
"Congrats, mate. You guys are adorable together," Bill came up to them, Fleur on his arm. "But I didn't know the two of you were lovers!"
We aren't lovers. It's not my kid.
"He's such a dear, he didn't want his actions to get me in trouble. I was alright because I was at least a half-blood, but if they'd known I was dating a blood traitor..." Angie trailed off, shuddering, and George wrapped an arm around her.
They were all silent a moment, the recent deaths dimming the festivities.
"Come on, love, you're almost there, darling. Just one more push," The midwife was soothing and calm as she helped the struggling Angelina through the difficult birth.
George knelt beside her, concentrating on her face, holding her hand and trying not to grimace as his wife groaned in pain and squeezed it, hard. He was so proud of her- so proud of his best friend- for getting through this.
Finally, with one last gigantic push, the baby was born.
"It's a boy! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, you have a son!" She said. They cleaned the babe, and swaddled him, and then the midwife held him out to George. "Would you like to hold your son?"
He's not my son. He's Fred's.
Slowly, George took the baby into his arms. "Hullo, Fred." He whispered.
He looked at the exhausted but smiling Angelina, placing the boy in her arms.
Maybe this one wasn't his. But maybe... Maybe the next one could be.
R&R Guys!