Chapter 12

I know it's been forever! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story! I've literally been delaying writing this chapter forever, and then after I wrote it delayed actually updating it for as long as I could think of excuses. I'm still not quite sure I even like it...I have such good ideas for the future, though! So please go easy on me for this one chapter, which is necessary to get to better ones.

Love as always to those who review, and add as favorite/alert. Keep it up, please :)

George spun into view in the Delacours fireplace moments after his parting words with Bill. Apolline, whom he'd only met once at the wedding, was waiting for him, and clapped her hands together when he stumbled out of the fire.

"George," she crowed in her thick accent. "It is so good to see you," she added, kissing both his cheeks twice. "I am sorry there is not a better reception, Fleur gave us such short notice! I 'ope you do not mind…"

"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Delacour. I hope this wasn't any trouble, I just needed to get here fast. In fact, I really should be on my way." He knew it was irrational to think that ten minutes would be the difference between a life with Angelina or without her, but he couldn't help feeling that the sooner he reached her the better.

"Ah, of course. Fleur told me. You are going to ze girl, oui?"

George smiled patiently. "Sure am. Er, could you tell me where the Quidditch Stadium is?" George checked his watch impatiently. Five. That gave him about an hour before the match started. But less than that to reach Ange, because once warm-ups started he doubted there was any way he could get to her.

"Of course! Eet is just outside ze 20th arrondissement. Look for a sign that says 'Attention! Zone de travaux!'" The corners of her mouth twitch up. "Ze Muggles have not realized it has been a construction zone for twenty years now."

George chuckled a little. "What's the best way to get there?" George was proficient at Apparating, but didn't quite feel comfortable trying to Apparate to a spot he'd never seen in a foreign country. Luckily, Mrs. Delacour held out her arm to him.

"I can guide you, if you wish."

Without a moments hesitation he gripped her thin arm and with a crack they were gone. When he felt solid ground under his feet again, George opened his eyes and took in his surroundings in the bustling city of Paris. Even on the very outskirts of it, George recognized its beauty.

"Zat way to the Quidditch Stadium," Apolline said, pointing down a street. "I would go with you, but Gabrielle will be 'ome soon…"

George quickly kissed her cheek once more. "No, this is perfect. Thanks so much. Er…Merci!" And took off down the street.

The road trailed off toward the right a few blocks in, and, feeling like he needed to remain toward the left to continue in the direction Apolline pointed, George took a different road, which ended up leading him in a twisting path until George was hopelessly lost and certain he'd never make it now. George silently cursed himself for trusting his own instincts instead of Apolline's crystal clear directions. It was already five thirty. The warm-ups were started now, no doubt. He'd have to wait for who knows how long after the game now.

George continued taking random streets, trying to get back at least to where he had once been. About twenty minutes later, he let out a shout of triumph as he recognized the sign Mrs. Delacour had been talking about. After he got a few steps closer, the construction sight melted into a huge stadium, and George could already hear the shouts of the crowd.

He picked up his pace to a run, stopping only long enough to buy a ticket.

"How much?" he asked hurriedly.

"At the door fee is fifteen galleons," said the witch sitting inside indifferently. George didn't even comment about how ridiculously marked up this was. He gave her the money and quickly grabbed his ticked before heading inside the building.

The hallways were virtually empty as he made his way through them to find his seat, a good enough sign that the game was just about to start. Sure enough, when he left the dark tunnel leading to the seating area the players had already mounted their brooms and were positioned in the sky, the ref's whistle in his mouth. With a sharp sound they were off, and George vaguely recognized Angelina's dark figure darting in and amongst the players. She had the Quaffle tucked under her arm and was already speeding off toward the opposing teams goals.

With what George thought was an extremely well placed throw, Angelina hurled the Quaffle, but the French Keeper was too good. He deflected her shot with the back end of his broom, to the cheers of the fans below. One of the Parisian Chasers now had the Quaffle. She was very good and managed to make it through the center hoop in a clever fake.

So they game went for fifteen or so minutes as George watched, transfixed, on the sidelines. George was impressed with Angelina's performance. He'd been to a few of her practices, and of course they'd played on the same team for years, but he had never seen her play quite like this. She seemed to anticipate the other players' ideas before they could execute them, and managed to steal thirty points for the Canons. Unfortunately, it was clear that as a team they were outmatched, justified by the scoreboard, which unmistakably displayed 80-30.

It happened in an instant. So fast most of the crowd missed it. Angelina was zooming off with the Quaffle. With a clever feint she made it past the Keeper and had a clear shot at the goal. She was so focused she didn't bother to check over her shoulder, but George did. He saw the Beater swing his bat back, eyes locked right on Angelina. He knew what was about to happen a split second before it did, for it's exactly what he would have done. George was forced to watch, rendered completely useless, as he smacked the bludger at her, heard the sickening crack as sit met its mark of Angelina's head, and saw her tumble off her broom, inches away from the goal, and fell at an alarming speed to the ground.

"ANGE!" George roared. The Medic Wizards were already prepared on the side, and cushioned her fall with a charm and were already carrying her, unconscious, off field as George began to frantically push through the crowd to reach her.

After harassing several unaware staff members at the stadium, he was able to find the first aid station, where he got it a heated argument with the attendant outside.

"You HAVE to let me in!" he shouted.

"Sir, I cannot let anyone in. You will 'ave to wait until ze game is over."

"But she's my girlfriend! Can't you see? I need to make sure she's okay!"

The man waiting at the door stayed resolutely in front of the door. Luckily, George's shouting attracted someone's attention on the inside.

"Did I 'ear you say you are 'er boyfriend?" the woman asked. Her robes were embroidered with the title 'Docteur' and George was relieved to finally see someone who might have tended to Angelina.

"Yes, so can you please let me in to see her?" he asked, desperately this time.

"Follow me." George followed the woman down a corridor until she stopped in front of a door about halfway down the hall. "She is fine, don't worry." George released the sigh he had been holding. "I will leave you for a moment, then I will talk to both of you."

George nodded and dully thanked her, his hand already on the door handle. His heart was pounding suddenly, and a thousand questions were roaring in his head. What if she didn't want him back? What if she was too angry with him still?

Still, with trepidation George pushed open the door. His heart leapt as he saw Angelina. She was laying on a bed, one of the uncomfortable looking ones he'd seen in St. Mungo's. Her eyes were closed and he watched her for a moment breathing deeply. He searched her face for any sign of injury, but it seemed she had already been patched up.

He stood there for a moment, completely at a loss for were so many things he wanted to say to her, namely an apology, but all that came out was, "Are you okay?"

She sighed in exasperation, her eyes still closed. "Yes, I'm fine. I could go play again because Danny's in now and he's —" she halted abruptly, and George watched her slowly open her eyes and turn to face him.

"George?" she asked incredulously.

Before she could utter another room George was at her side. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her black hair, which conveniently disguised the tears that were leaking from his eyes. "Ange, oh Ange," he whispered, feeling the sobs shaking her in his arms. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never..I mean..I just…I love you, Ange."

He pulled back to look at her. His eloquence seemed to have been robbed from him as he stared into her deep brown eyes. None of the brilliant apologies he had practiced had come to him. He simply wanted to stare at her forever. To hold her in his arms and never let go. Words didn't seem to be enough to explain to her how sorry he was, and how much he wanted her back.

But Angelina seemed to understand. As tears were washing down her own face she leaned in to kiss him. There would be a long conversation later, George was sure. Many questions asked and answered, but for now, he let himself sink into that kiss, making up for lost time.

"You came back," she whispered. Her clutch on his shoulders was so tight George was feeling a stinging pain from her fingernails, but didn't even want her to let go.

"Of course I did, Ange. I was an idiot before."

"I was, too. I should never have left. I was just mad and not thinking straight and…" she trailed off as the doctor walked back into the room. Angelina pulled apart from George, but he kept a tight grip on her hand, unwilling to be entirely separated from her.

The doctor looked shock at the tears on their faces, and, misinterpreting them, said, "But she eez fine! Don't worry, it was just a concussion. We fixed it right away." They both smiled and nodded thankfully, for this was much easier than explaining what had actually just happened.

"'Owever, zere is something else I need to talk to you both about." She observed them for a moment, her eyes squinting slightly as she stared intently. "Well, I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Johnson, Mr. Weasley. You are going to be parents."