Angelina's first letter came not a day after she left. George hadn't been expecting one so soon. In fact, he had been fighting the temptation to write to her for the last twelve hours. Turns out he didn't have to. A large, tawny brown owl swept through the window of his flat, flew downstairs and straight to the counter he was sitting at to drop the letter in his lap. It then perched on the display near the Pygmy Puffs, eyeing them with a little too much interest. George took a moment to cast a shield charm on his fluffy little creations before opening the seal on the parchment envelope. A small, square, photograph fell out and onto his maroon-clad leg. He picked it up, studying it curiously. It was a photograph, a Muggle one judging by the fact that the lone occupant was standing quite stationary. It was of Angelina, standing in a giant snow bank, bundled against what appeared to be a bitter cold. She was making a sour face, but her eyes were twinkling, and even without magic, George knew she was actually happy to be where she was. He moved on to the letter underneath the photo, but not before pinning it inconspicuously to the register in front of him. He read her loopy handwriting, smiling to himself.

George,

I know it hasn't even been a full day yet, but I had to share my misery with someone. You better damn well like this present, because it is bloody freezing here! I couldn't even apparate straight in; a witch told me the cold could send me into a sudden shock if I did. It is beautiful here though. I took a picture for you. There was no time to bother with magic, so I used a Muggle Polaroid. It's like an instant picture. You point, click and then the picture slides out. My mum and I used to use them all the time. I think me and your dad both are a little loopy about Muggle stuff, but in my defense, I do have quite a bit of their blood. Which might account for my taste in Muggle music (I will get you to listen to it one of these days).

Anyhow, it's gorgeous here. I wish you could see it. If I didn't hate the cold, the scenery might almost be worth it. I'll send you some more pictures. I'm sure your dad will get a kick out of them. I'm having a nice time here, but don't get me wrong. I WILL be back George Weasley, and when I do come back, you owe me a dance. And yes, it will be Muggle music. So don't give my job away. Oh, and do try to eat something green while I'm gone. Yes, Weasley, a vegetable. Puking Pastilles do NOT count. If you're sick when I get back for your birthday, so help me God, I will hex you into the new year.

Missing you already and wishing you were here.

Love,

Ange

She had signed it with love. George reread the letter twice, his spirits rising each time. She missed him; she had said it herself. He studied the picture again. She looked gorgeous all blanketed in the snow. Angelina hated the snow, a fact he and Fred had exploited in yearly snowball wars. But she looked content here. He marveled at the fact that she could scold him through a letter and manage to remember his father liked Muggle stuff in the same sentence, but he knew that it meant she cared. That was the thing about her; if she didn't care for you she didn't bother with cruel comments. She just ignored you completely. But if she cared about you, she nagged and teased and tore the mickey out of you, but always managed to remember the important stuff, no matter how small. It was her way, much like he and Fred mercilessly teased the people that meant most to them. They had always had an understanding about this that few understood. Generally, they ripped into each other so often in public that most people thought they hated each other. It was just their way.

Or at least it had been, before New Year's. Then they spent time politely avoiding one another. And even when she worked here, they were friends, but something was different. George was glad for her teasing. It meant things were getting back to normal. But then of course, she had never given him her love before, and she certainly never had kissed him. For that matter, he had never seen her kiss anyone. She was the typical hard ass. Her private life was just that. But George had always assumed she and Fred kissed, and possibly more. His stomach gave an unpleasant sort of lurch at this thought and he quickly tucked her letter back into the envelope.

George heard a soft hoot. He looked up to see the owl watching him expectantly. He understood.

"She wants a response does she?" he asked it. The owl hooted again, its wide amber eyes still studying him. George looked round at the shop. Ron and Verity were handling it all quite well. It was still early on in the day before the rush started. He had time to write her back. He pulled out parchment and quill, and thought about his response. He had never put this much thought into anything short of this shop or his experiments, but George found himself nearly stressing. In the end though, he decided to just write what he normally would and come what may. He watched his hand trace his barely-legible handwriting over the page.

Ange,

Got your letter. Couldn't go one day without writing me could you? Ah well, you can hardly be blamed. I am that fantastic. I'll agree with you. It does look bloody freezing there. It's pretty warm here. I think I might go sunbathing later. Only joking. I never could get that color you always seem to have. Might be a difference in complexion, do you think?

The shop is somehow still standing without you. Ron is a surprisingly big help, but don't tell him that. The prat's head might swell even more than it already has. I swear, he destroys one little horcrux or two, gets the girl of his dreams and suddenly we should all bow down. If he doesn't watch out, the little ex-prefect is going to turn into Percy number two. Although, I'm starting to realize there are things much worse than that. Perc dropped by yesterday with a friend from work and it was like talking to a blank wall. At least Percy acknowledges my comedic genius. This bloke may have been half troll for how articulate he was.

Lee dropped by too and I suppose I will have to go out on my birthday. Just drinks and maybe a dance or two mind you. You promised remember.

Keep bundled up. Can't have you freezing to death over there. Especially after we got through a war. I expect the angels would laugh you out of heaven for that blunder.

Hoping to see you soon, and just possibly missing you too,

George

P.S. There's an old Pumpkin Pasty in the cupboard and it's gone slightly green. Does that count since a pumpkin is technically a fruit?

He finished his letter and sent it off with the owl. The joking had come effortlessly as he wrote, but he couldn't bring himself to write 'love.' Love made it real. There was no denying feelings for someone if you wrote that you loved him. Besides, he didn't want to think about how true of a statement his love would have been. Perhaps she meant it the way most girls did, not in a lover way. It was better not to be the first to say something as serious as that. He hoped that his letter would be enough and that she would realize, just like old times that his jokes meant he cared.

He looked down at the picture on the cash register again and smiled. He was still looking at it when Ron wandered over and told him to wipe the drool off of his chin and come back to Earth.

Instead of responding, George made him restock the shelves. That would teach the little git.


A/N: Two in two days! Whoo for me! Thanks for the reviews! Please drop one if you haven't!