AN: Here is Ch 7, it's a little short but a good one in my opinion :) Hope you like it and can leave me a review!
One weekend late in January, George accompanied Angelina to a Quidditch match she was reporting on. They both cheered on Puddlemere and shared celebratory drinks with Oliver and his team after their nail-biting victory. She watched as George fell right in with the team and enjoyed seeing him put on the male bravado that most men wear in large groups of their own sex. She was thrilled when the captain of the team sat down next to her and started talking about the match. She listened keenly—what other reporter was going to have a first-person account of the match for their editor in the morning? She was grateful she had one of those handy Quick Quills for note taking. She barely had time to take in what he was saying—the alcohol was slurring his already heavy Scottish accent.
Later on, as the evening winded down, Angelina sat back against the bar and watched as George got into a discussion with the team's Beaters. It made her happy to see him so enthusiastic about the conversation. For a moment, she could see the energy that he had once always had. Oliver broke away from his conversation with a few of the other players and settled on the stool next to her.
"I see you fancy yourself a Weasley, do you," he whispered loudly. Angelina leaned back from him.
"Come off it," she said. "George and I are friends. He's been a damn good friend to me the past few months." Oliver chuckled and shook his hands in front of him as if to defend himself.
"If you say so, Johnson. I won't argue with you. I'll tell you though, Katie's awfully glad that you've got someone to spend time with. That woman, I tell you, she cares about you. She's got such a big heart, you know. I can't stand it myself sometimes. She just cares about everyone. I love her, you know. I love her! Ha! It's fantastic, Johnson. She's fantastic. Listen, I'll tell you a secret. Come here. Closer, it's a secret."
Angelina leaned as close to Oliver as she possibly could to entertain his drunken rambling. When she was close enough for him to breathe on her, he opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm gonna ask that woman to marry me. Katie Bell, will you be my wife? That's what I'm going to say to her. I don't know when though. It's got to be the right timing, you know?"
"That's bloody marvelous, Oliver!" she yelled, albeit a bit too close to his ear for his comfort. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "If she says yes, you're a lucky bloke. And she'll say yes, so don't worry."
When George came over to see what the fuss was about, Oliver went into detail about how he'd gotten a lovely ring and was thinking about doing it when Puddlemere made it into the finals.
"How typical of you to make it about Quidditch," Angelina joked. George congratulated Oliver on the impending good news and shook his hand.
"That's fantastic news, Oliver. I'm happy for you, mate. It's that time of night, though," he lamented. "I've got to get myself a few hours of decent sleep, I suppose. Thanks for letting me tag along tonight, it was bloody great. You've got some top notch players on your team." Angelina stood and yawned, indicating that she was just as ready to leave as George. She gave Oliver another hug, something that she hadn't ever done before he'd been dating Katie. If she had ever actually tried to hug him at Hogwarts, he probably would have died from the sheer awkwardness of it all.
"Good man, Weasley. Take care of Johnson, will you?" Oliver slurred as he patted George on the back.
The pair left via Floo—they were too drunk to Apparate but were too far to walk to either of their flats. Once in Angelina's flat, they began to succumb to the alcohol. It's a fascinating phenomenon that often happens when one drinks. One can manage for the most part to remain upright and coherent after as many drinks as Angelina had had, but once in the safety of the home, one lets down the guard and becomes much more of a mess than before. Angelina threw her shoes into a random corner of her flat and began stripping off her clothes on the way to the bedroom. With great struggle she managed to dress herself for sleep. She was just jamming her legs into a pair of backward pajama shorts when George stumbled in. She barely registered that he stripped off his shirt and flopped onto one side of her bed. He was already snoring by the time she crawled in next to him. She took comfort in the presence of a warm body next to hers. As her eyelids drooped and the alcohol quickly dragged her to sleep, she felt herself roll into his warmth; like a reflex, the contact prompted his arm to drape itself over her, pulling her more into the warmth.