Chapter Seven

My sincerest, deepest, utterest apologies for taking SO long to update. I went on vacation, then had serious writer's block, then started school...which all leads up to the fact that I'm not really happy with this chapter. It's fluffy, let's say. Doesn't really add to the plot of the story, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway :)

Thanks to 14 (x2), jubejube123, jadekate, danalexkayarimad, cyn23, and Hope-W for reviewing! Some of you guys have reviewed on every chapter, you are amazing!! Please, please keep reviewing!

Adjusting to life as a couple rather than friends was easier than either of them expected, the transition seamless and effortless. They went about their daily routines basically the same as before, with only a few things changed. Angelina waking George up with a soft kiss when he fell asleep on the couch after a long day. George handing Angelina a fake wand, which burst, instead of into a rubber chicken or the like, into a beautiful bouquet of roses, which turned out to be everlasting. She had put them in the ornate vase above the sink in the kitchen, and just the sight of them could bring her out of any bad mood she was feeling.

The Holiday Season had come and gone in a blur of colors, presents, and revelations, and now, on the other side of the New Year, things were starting to change. Hogwarts would be reopened the coming year. It had been closed for the most recent school year for repairs and out of respect for those deceased. Those who were in the middle of their education were either home schooled or sent off to another Wizarding school for the year, and those who would have graduated were offered the chance to repeat their final year. Ginny was one of those who declined the offer. The halls of Hogwarts castle held too many memories for her now, most of which she wasn't ready to relive.

Meanwhile, she was practicing Quidditch constantly to achieve her dream of making it onto the Hollyhead Harpies. Harry had been assisting her, though lately he had been spending much of his time at the Ministry, where his Auror training had just begun. Neither Ron nor Hermione had spent much time job searching, though Ron had expressed some desire in being an Auror, and being Hermione, she was still constantly studying, trying to make up for lost learning.

The most shocking change, however, was the change in George himself. He was no longer despondent, humorless, and unsmiling. He laughed now, loud and clear. He smiled easily, the winkle finally returning to his eyes. He made jokes now, too, and was even contemplating experimenting with some new products for the joke shop. Being with his family now was easy as it once was, he even took comfort in their company once again. No one failed to notice this, and though no one directly commented, they certainly all knew the cause of George's new attitude. Angelina made all the difference in George.

Of course, the hurt wasn't entirely gone. Sometimes he would sit up at night, staring at a nothing, and Angelina would curl up next to him, her small frame resting perfectly against his. Sometimes they would say nothing, other times they would talk for hours about Fred, Hogwarts, and the good times they had.

It was February 12th today, and as George had never had a cause to celebrate Valentine's day before, was shocked to find it only two days away, thanks to Ron for reminding him. He had been sitting in the Burrow's living room, Angelina at practice, leafing through an old catalogue of Zonko's, looking for inspiration. Ron had burst in, looking disgruntled.

"What's up, Ron?" Taking a look at Ron's hair, somehow sticking near straight up on his head, had added, "Channeling Elvis, are you?"

"No—Who?" Ron questioned, but George shook his head. Angelina had passed on a taste of Muggle music to him, having gotten it from her own father. However, sometimes George forgot that his family wouldn't understand, though his father most certainly be willing to.

"Listen, George. I, er, need some advice. About Hermione."

"Ah, some trouble with the ol' girl? I must say, I'm not surprised, never could understand why she's with a git like you…"

Ron threw a book at him, which George deflected with a lazy flick of his wand. "Shut it!" he yelled.

"Easy, Ron. I was only joking!"

"Right, sorry. It's just…Hermione, you know?" George nodded his head. For all his relentless teasing of his younger brother, George actually did understand, and realized he could have been a bit more sympathetic. He imagined how he would have felt if someone had said the same thing about he and Angelina.

"Sorry," he said again. "What did you want to ask?"

"Well, you know…Valentine's Day is coming up and all…and I just don't know what to do…"

"Blimey, Valentine's Day?" George hadn't even remembered, and was hitting himself for not. He was going to screw this up with the only serious girlfriend he'd ever had.

"Well, yeah. I was hoping you could help me? What're you doing for Angelina?"

"Er, well. Why aren't you asking Ginny about this? I'm sure she'd give better advice."

"She'd tell Hermione!"

"Right, she would. Well, sorry I can be of no assistance. Best of luck." George stood up and departed, leaving Ron looking slightly deflated behind him. "Tell Mum I'll be 'round for dinner soon!" he called as he walked through the door, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. "What am I supposed to do?" He glanced at his gold watch, which had been given to him on his seventeenth birthday, almost four years ago now. Three thirty. Angelina wouldn't get out for another hour, he could try to find something in that time. But that was the problem! He had no idea what to even look for. He needed advice, but from whom? He would've asked Bill, but he and Fleur were visiting her aprent's in France. Lee would probably laugh at him. Not Ange's friends, Katie and Alicia would be sure to tell Angelina. Which led him to another thought, someone whose advice had led him to tell Angelina his feelings in the first place. Yes, that is whom he would ask.

George stood outside the entrance to the Quidditch pitch where the Chudley Canons held their practice, ten minutes past four, concealed by a building. He was counting on the fact that Carrie always came out last so he could catch her alone. He heard the voices of Angelina's teammates as they left, their voices familiar to him. He caught Ange's voice mingled with the rest, and though he wanted to, didn't jump out to join her as she walked away. Finally, deeming the coast clear, ducked inside the building, where, as suspecting, Carrie was sitting, poring over parchments of various Quidditch plays.

"Carrie," he called. She jumped up, flicking her wand hastily, causing the papers to snap shut and fly into her bag. "Top secret?" he asked.

She laughed. "You know the drill. Can't take any chances."

"I know, I know." He came to a stop in front of her.

"Did you come here for a particular reason? Angelina's already left, actually."

"No, I came here to ask you something." She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I need some advice." Carrie nodded knowingly, as if she was already expecting it. "Well, it's Valentine's Day in a few days, and I don't know what to do. I mean, I do, but I…don't. You see?"

Carrie hooted with laughter at George's mangled words and pained expression. "I don't think anyone would see, George," she chuckled. "Luckily, I'm not just anyone, so I do see. You two are just hopeless, aren't you?"

"Well—Hey, wait. What do you mean, you two?"

She smiled mischievously. "Well, let's just say Angelina isn't quite as sure as she might appear to be."

"What? Did she ask you too? What'd you tell her!"

Carrie just giggled and shook her head. "I swore not to tell. But here, take this advice. I'm sure you know this, but Angelina isn't a material girl. She would much rather have something that showed how you felt about her than an expensive dress or such."

"Yes, but what would that be?" he demanded.

"You tell me. Oh, gotta go, Tim's waiting for me!" she said, sauntering off to where the handsome Keeper was leaning against the door, leaving George alone and confused.

The thirteenth came and went much to fast, leaving George still without a clue. He had tried to get Angelina to drop a hint, but she was unyielding, and he didn't want to be too obvious. Resigned to improvising, George picked up some Angelina's favorite flower on the way home—lilacs—and some groceries for her favorite meal. Carrie was running practice late today, at his request, and he planned to have dinner ready when she arrived, tired and cranky from the late practice.

However, things didn't go quite as planned. He had been attempting to cook roast chicken the Muggle way, because for some inexplicable reason Angelina insisted it tasted better that way. Unfortunately, their oven didn't have a timer, and George, accustomed to his mother's charms magically knowing when the food was done, had allowed the poultry to become a charred mess. He had been tidying up the living room when the thick smell of smoke filled his nose. "Bloody hell…" he muttered, hurrying into the kitchen. He was faced with gray clouds emitting from the oven, and clearing them with his wand, pulled out the blackened bird, cursing under his breath.

The front door creaked open before George even had time to do away with the destroyed dinner. "Hello?" called Angelina's weary voice from the entrance.

"Ange—wait. Don't come back here." Of course, she didn't listen. She rushed back when she smelled the smoke, alarm written across her face. Upon entering the kitchen, it melted away, replaced with a twisted smile, and George knew she was clearly trying not to burst into laughter. "Merlin's pants...God, Ange, this wasn't how it was supposed to be." He looked down at himself, his nice clothing stained with food and burnt chicken, smelling of smoke. His hair was a mess, and didn't flatten down when he brushed a hand over it.

"How was it supposed to be?" she asked, coming over to help him clean.

"Well, for one, I wasn't supposed to have burned the bird. You were supposed to have walked in the door, exhausted from a long day of practice, and I would have had dinner ready for you like a housewife in the fifties." She grinned at this. "Instead, you get poulet brûle. Happy Valentine's Day…" he added on dejectedly.

Angelina stopped her laughing smile, and sank down to the floor where George had sat down. With both hands on either side of his face, she turned his face toward hers. "George," she breathed, their faces just a hair's breadth apart. "This was the sweetest thing ever." She kissed his right cheek. "You did everything right—except the cooking, obviously." He chuckled, and she kissed his left cheek. "I didn't even know you'd remembered Valentine's Day, let alone all my favorites." She kissed his chin.

"Of course I do, Ange. I love you." She kissed his mouth, wrapping her arms securely around his neck. Her gripped her close, standing up and spinning her around.

"Anyway, I think it's sweet you can't cook anything more than toast," she stated, having drawn away from him slightly. "That's what I'm here for." And with that hopped out of his arms and began preparing dinner again, George staring forlornly after her.

"Is that it? I was under the impression you were here for something more," he said, pulled her back once again into a passionate embrace.