A/N: Thanks for all the reviews :) I hope you enjoy this next chapter... it's the first from a new 'point of view'.

October 22nd, 1999 - Friday

George arrives at the burrow earlier than any of the others. The shop had been less busy than usual today, a sombre air hovering over every customer. The Wizarding Population Growth Act was all anyone could discuss. George had seen customers whose fury over the entire thing could have rivalled his own, and some customers who were grateful that the Ministry was 'finally doing something about the post-war recession'. Usually older, or already married. Nothing to lose.

George shakes his head of the day's trial and tries to prepare himself for the evening ahead.

For the millionth time in only a few hours, he wishes Fred were alive.

Fred would have fought the WPG. Fred would have fought this with every molecule of his being and George — well… George is outraged, he is. He's furious on behalf of his family, his siblings, but he just…

George doesn't want to marry a stranger, of course. But he doesn't have it in him to fight another war without his brother.

"George," his mother greets when he walks through the door, "good to see you, dear."

George easily hugs Molly Weasley, noting that she has a frown on her lips, and all the stress that had disappeared in the months following the war seems back in full force.

Her new clock is sitting in the spot of honour against the wall where her old clock had once stood. Though most of the Burrow had burned, they had salvaged most of the structure, and the layout remained the same as before.

All the names on the clock are accounted for, most pointing to Work or In Transit. George reads the names of his family, and swallows down the pang that hits him when Fred's name is nowhere to be found.

They had debated adding it to the clock, but Bill had been practical, stating it would hardly be helpful to have Fred's clock hand permanently stuck to Lost. Hermione had mentioned that the charm may not even work, as the clock hands were charmed using each individual's magical signature, and Fred… well, he was gone.

"Where's Dad?" George asks.

Molly Weasley bustles around the kitchen, looking busy with a dishcloth in her hand. She's not dusting anything in her travels, just wringing the cloth between her fingers every few moments.

"Oh, just in the garden. I think he just needed a moment."

George grimaces. Of all the Weasley clan, his father boasts the calmest temper. It never bodes well when Arthur Weasley is enraged to the point where he must pace around his garden.

"Hope he's not working himself up too much," George mutters.

Percy's arrival interrupts his mother's response, and before they can even greet him, Hermione slips in the door behind.

She looks tired, George notes. Her normally curly hair sits in a subdued knot on top of her head, and she's stuck a pencil through the strands. On any other day, George would purposefully muss her curls, only to watch her careful pony fall out and shoot off in all directions.

"Where's Dad?" Percy asks, an echo of George's earlier question.

"Garden," he answers at the same time as Molly.

Hermione frowns out the window, "Should we go get him?"

"No, dear," Molly assures, "He'll be in soon. Charlie owled us to tell us he got permission from a Floo call after the letters tonight, and Arthur wouldn't miss this."

"Charlie got a letter?" Hermione is aghast, "He's in Romania!"

George rolls his eyes, "He's still a citizen here, though. They probably sent them to every registered witch and wizard in England."

Percy heaves a sigh and plops down at the table in his regular seat, "Not only is this entire WPG a pile of dragon dung, but it's also an administrative nightmare."

George rolls his eyes at Percy's words and catches Hermione's eyes, bringing a laugh to her lips.

"Hello, kids," Arthur's voice is welcome and calm when he opens the back door, and George is happy to see his dad with his usual smile on his face.

"Hi, Dad," Percy choruses, and Arthur joins him at the table.

By 4:57 PM everyone is sitting straight-backed and stressed at the table, and Harry rushes through the front door with Ginny at his side.

"Harry, Ginny, you barely made it in time!" Hermione cries, and Harry hugs her quickly before finding his seat. Ron follows them in much more sedately and has barely perched into his spot before an owl swoops through the open back door.

The parchment isn't rolled into a scroll this time; instead, they are in envelopes, sinisterly coloured a deep black. Molly dutifully hands out each letter, a grimace on her face though she says nothing.

When everyone is sitting, staring at their respective black envelopes in front of them as though they are Howlers, destined to explode in their faces, it is Percy who shows his Gryffindor courage.

"I'll go first," he says.

It's a kindness, George knows. Percy has no significant other. Though he'd be foolish not to know his entire future hangs on what he will read in the envelope, it doesn't feel quite as devastating as Harry's or Ginny's might be. George realizes suddenly that his own status is the same.

"Daphne Greengrass," Percy says finally, "I don't think I know her."

"Slytherin," Ron nearly spits.

Hermione sighs, "She was in our year. She was in Slytherin, yes, Ronald, but that doesn't mean she's evil. I don't remember her being mean."

Percy nods, his face is paler than he's ever seen it. George grabs at the black envelope in his hands, dread spreading through his limbs. He just wants to get it over with, and he nearly tears the entire envelope in half in his haste, so unlike how Percy had neatly ripped the seam.

"George Fabian Weasley

has been found a favourable match with

Parvati Diya Patil.

Congratulations."

George can feel his head spinning as he reads the words — the parchment itself is as black as night, with ivory ink across the page. It's unlike anything he's ever seen, and the letters swim in front of his gaze for a moment.

"Parvati Patil," he finally chokes out, "could be worse. She was a Gryffindor, I've met her."

He recalls she had long black hair and smooth dark skin, and a soft voice. George can't remember ever actually speaking to her, just hearing her in passing. She'd been in the same year as Ron, so he had never shared classes with her.

"Parvati's nice," Ron says, interrupting his musing, "pretty, too."

George frowns. She probably had been pretty in Hogwarts, but it has suddenly occurred to George that he will have to know her. He has to meet her and talk to her, and kiss her. And he has absolutely no choice about it.

"Oh bugger," Ron's voice interrupts George's thoughts again and he looks up. His youngest brother is clutching his opened envelope and looking like he's seen a ghost. Hermione's face is pale and creased with worry, and George lets his imagination run wild over what could be written on Ron's parchment.

"I got Hannah Abbott," he says, "and she's nice, but what about Neville?! They've been dating for ages!"

The table is silent at the news, and it's Harry who finally speaks in a voice that sounds as though he's being dragged over gravel, "I suppose he'll accept it."

"Go next, Harry." Hermione urges after Harry's words.

George trains his eyes on Harry Potter, pushing all thoughts of Parvati Patil out of his brain. He can feel his vision flicking between Harry and Ginny, and George prays to whatever deity can hear him to help them out a little.

Harry and Ginny open their envelopes together, and when they glance at the black parchment, it's clear as day when relief breaks over their expressions. It's like the sun rising behind storm clouds.

Ginny bursts into tears, launching herself towards Harry, and he barely blinks at the impact of her body.

"It's okay. It's okay. We got each other." He says almost dazed.

George sighs and glances at the clock against the wall. Fred's name isn't there, but sometimes he swears he can still feel him.

When he glances back, Hermione has an odd expression on her face, vacillating between smug and despairing. George frowns at her, but she never looks away from Harry and Ginny's embrace.

She clears her throat and grabs her envelope.

"Alright," she says, and slides a finger down the seam. The table falls silent and stares at her, the last of their family to open the envelope.

George watches her read stoically, only a flicker of surprise registering. It means nothing; George realized in Hermione's third year at Hogwarts that of all his friends and family, she is the best liar. Perhaps it is unkind to say that, but her poker face is impenetrable.

"I got Draco Malfoy," she states.

Her words cause pure chaos — Ron snarls and pulls his wand as though he can curse him from afar. George can feel rage and thunder that he hadn't expected to ever feel again, ready for the war he had sworn he would have no part in.

George opens his mouth to hurl threats, but Harry beats him to it.

"I'll go to Kingsley," Harry snaps, "I'll fight before you spend a moment trapped in that Manor again."

George has never heard Hermione speak of what happened in Malfoy Manor, but he knows that Ron still sometimes wakes screaming her name. He's seen the scar that mars her forearm, and sometimes, on family dinners when he feels Fred's absence like a crater in his chest, Hermione will appear and sit by him on the back porch. She never says anything, just presses into his shoulder, and George feels a little less like dying.

He realizes his wand is out, and he's ready to follow Harry into another war. He's not the only one — the entire Weasley clan looks ready for battle.

Hermione remains oddly calm, "Harry… Harry… it's okay. It's okay. I don't have to live in the Manor — there's no law stating I must reside with my husband."

"Yeah, just a law stating you have to marry the git," Ron sneers, "do you actually think he's going to live in your little cottage?"

George has never been to Hermione's house. No one except Ron and Harry has. George envies her in that regard because he still lives above the store in the flat that he and Fred had shared, and his entire family pop in and out by Floo as they please. Sometimes, after a busy day of them visiting, George will stare at the empty fireplace and wait for Fred to come home for a moment before he realizes he never will.

"I don't know," Hermione snaps, "let's not panic yet. It could have been worse."

George trains his eyes on her left fingers, settled on the table. Her pinky is trembling, and she moves it under the table, away from his gaze.

It's an after effect of sustained torture via the cruciatus curse, George knows. He's seen it before, both in friends and customers at the store. Hermione is hardly the only one who suffers from it, though she is good at controlling and hiding it.

"How?" George surprises himself by answering her, "How could it be worse?"

Ron nods furiously, "Yeah, Mione, that man called you a mudblood for years -"

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly cuts Ron off, horror in her voice. Ron snaps his mouth shut but doesn't take back his words. George supposes that he's not wrong, and Hermione knows it.

"Hermione, dear," Arthur begins, "we won't jump to conclusions. Why don't you write to Mr. Malfoy, and if he is... not... a suitable match, then we can take our case to the Wizengamot? You may call in a favour to Kingsley — he'll help us. He owes you that."

Hermione nods slowly, "I'll do that, Mr. Weasley."

George narrows his eyes — he's seen it. She's lying. She's lying to his father's face about contacting the Ministry, and George knows, he knows, he is the only one who has seen it.

A sputtering green flame distracts him from pursuing it further, and then suddenly Charlie's face is filling the fire. His long hair is loose around his fiery face, and he looks so similar to Bill it's eerie.

Molly rushes to kneel by the fire, "Charlie, dear, how are you?"

Charlie smiles, but he seems tired, even through embers, "I'm fine, Mum. I've only got a few minutes, but I thought I should tell you who your new daughter-in-law will be."

George watches his mother's eyes fill with tears, and his father stands from his chair to stride to her side. He clasps her shoulder gently, and George suddenly finds the determination welling up inside him that he always thought he needed Fred for.

It's so unfair — his parents have fought in two wizarding wars to keep themselves and their family safe and free. George has watched his mother cry over her long-dead brothers, and he has watched his father mourn over Bill's scars, and he will never forget their screams over Fred —

No.

George will not stand by and watch this hard-won freedom be stolen. He'll be damned before he watches his mother marry off every one of her surviving children into loveless matches.

"It's Astoria Greengrass." Charlie's voice is monotone, so unlike his usual vivacious tone,

"Bloody hell, we'll be drowning in Slytherins and Greengrass sisters," George snaps before he can hold his tongue.

Charlie frowns through the fire, "Pardon?"

Percy sighs, "I got Daphne Greengrass. We'll be marrying the sisters."

"Is that even allowed?!" Ron is aghast.

George rolls his eyes, "Oi, mate, c'mon. Of course, it's allowed. They're not marrying each other."

"I've never met her," Charlie says wearily before Ron can retort, "I plan on owling after this call. She's... quite a bit younger than me."

George thinks back to Hogwarts, but he can't place Astoria Greengrass. He vaguely recalls there was an older sister in the same year as Ron.

"She was the year below us in school," Hermione murmurs, "only 19."

George abruptly wonders if she's scared. He knows better than most how gentle and kind Charlie is, but all the Greengrass girl will know is that he's a Weasley. Worse, she'll be able to find out he's a 28-year-old Dragon tamer that lives in Romania full time. Not exactly a refined pureblood aristocrat.

"I'll write to Daphne tonight then as well," Percy says, "that way we leave neither sister wondering."

Charlie nods, "At least I know I'll like my brother-in-law."

George winces when his mum's choked laugh turns into a sob. His father kneels down beside her and tightens his arm around her shoulders.

"Sorry, Mum," Charlie frowns, "guess I should've listened to you and settled down years ago."

George thinks briefly of Angelina — they had broken up before the Battle of Hogwarts, and though she had written to him after Fred… well, he wasn't ready.

He's still not ready — not for Angelina, or Parvati, or anyone.

"Listen to me, children," Molly Weasley climbs to her feet and straightens her spine, "this is not your fault. This is the fault of those in the Wizengamot and Ministry who are too narrowminded to let us heal in peace. This law may bind you to a spouse you would not have chosen, but you will always have this family as your own."

Hermione's eyes fill with tears, and Ginny buries her face in Harry's shoulder, and George clenches his fists all over again.

Charlie nods at her words, "That is a comfort. I'll talk to you all soon."

His head disappears, leaving a small fire burning in his place.

The silence that remains is endless. Hermione stands slowly, finding her feet on shaking legs. "I think I'll go home as well," she murmurs, "I should... I should write a letter."

Ron stands, "I'll walk you out."

George watches her make a quick round of hugs, squeezing his mum tightly. Ron follows her to the door, and George snatches up his envelope with the dreaded name on it and disappears up the stairs. No one stops him, and George escapes to Percy's room, leaving the light off and sitting on the bed, cracking the window just slightly.

Percy has the advantage of facing the front of the house, and George has never claimed to be honourable. He pulls out an extendable ear — he wonders if Hermione will explain why she was lying. If not, he'll ask her to her face the next time he sees her.

"—I want you to try with Hannah. Maybe you can be happy?" Hermione's voice fills his ear, and George angles himself to glance down at the front stoop out the window. She's facing Ron, a few feet apart. They both look a little pale, but where Hermione seems resigned, Ron is all fury.

"Hannah's great, but she's going to hate me. She's losing Neville over this, y'know?"

George closes his eyes for the briefest moment because this is all shite. Ron — Ron is good. Ron is the most like Arthur Weasley out of all the children, and it shows in his steadfast nature, his loyalty. Of all of them, George had always thought Ron would be the one to find a nice girl and have a whole new batch of Weasley kids with her.

He listens as Hermione comforts Ron, insisting he be kind to Hannah and try with her. It's excellent advice, and George thinks perhaps he'll use the same strategy. Approach Parvati as a friend and find a common ground before the marriage. Too bad he hardly remembers her at all.

George sinks deeper into Percy's old bed, the thought of getting married swirling around in his brain like a maelstrom. He only clicks back into his brother's conversation when Hermione finally releases a secret.

"Ron, I'd like it if you didn't share what I'm about to tell you with anyone, not even Harry."

George frowns — all thoughts of marriage forgotten. He isn't close with Hermione, not the way Ron or Harry is, but he's never known her to keep anything from Harry. The war had cleaved them together, and secrets aren't something that lingers when three people live together, survive together. They're thick as thieves.

"What is it?" Ron's voice asks.

George watches Hermione glance down at his mother's patchy flower bed, glaring at the drooping begonias. Fall has crept upon them, and everything is dying. It feels symbolic somehow.

"Draco Malfoy wrote to me," Hermione blurts, "three months ago. To apologize."

George nearly falls off the bed in his haste to get closer to the window. Of all the things he thought she would confess to, this was not it. George had imagined her sneaking into the Ministry, threatening whoever she needed to. He had expected a fight.

"Now I'm not saying he's a saint, I'm not even saying he's one of the good guys, but listen — it could be worse. He owes me for standing at his trial, and he knows it."

"An apology is one thing," Ron says staunchly, "a marriage is entirely another."

George wants to applaud Ron's words, just a little.

"You're right, Ron. But I don't see that I have much of a choice, here. I could run, sure, but I'm not willing to lose the only family I have left."

George can feel himself smiling down at their shadowed forms. He understands her sentiments; even he would marry Malfoy before he'd ever give up his family. Hermione is choosing the lesser of two evils — they just never imagined that marriage to Draco Malfoy could be considered the lesser evil.

"Hermione," Ron's words echo in the night with earnestness, "you are the smartest witch I've ever met. You can get rid of this stupid law — you can fix this. You won't have to stay married to him. I just know it."

George sighs at Ron's speech. It's not that he's wrong, exactly — Hermione is incredibly bright, the brightest witch of her age, in fact, but he's laying a monumental task upon just her shoulders. To find a loophole to dismantle the Wizarding Population Growth Act could take months, if not years. Hermione Granger might be able to do it, but not even George is foolish enough to believe she can do it within the next thirty days.

The Ministry, though flawed, is rarely sloppy.

"Ron, I'm going to try," Hermione promises, her voice in his ear, as clear as if she was standing beside him, "I'm going to fix this, and you and Hannah can be friends, and George can marry someone he loves, and I swear to you, I'll fix this."

George swallows the lump in his throat; she had thought to include his happiness? She had always been kind; more thoughtful than the others. George almost wishes he had pulled her name — he doesn't love her, doesn't even see her as anything more than an honorary sister, but it would be so easy. They would be good and kind to each other, and ghosts from the past could linger between them, and he would understand. She would understand.

He watches his brother pull her in for a tight hug, and he wonders what exactly it was that tore them apart when they had dated. He doesn't blame them — recovering from war is hardly the place to find a budding romance, but Ron has remained tight-lipped over the real reason.

George suspects that even Harry doesn't know.

He goes to pull out his extendable ear as Hermione turns to leave, but at the last second, Ron's voice stills his hand.

"Hermione, if he hurts you, we'll kill him."

George has never heard Ron speak the way he is now — heavy with darkness and fury. Before this moment, George would not have thought Ron capable of it. Yet, George doesn't doubt him; Ron is battle-hardened, experienced in the art of war, and prepared to kill. The 'we' he had spoken of must include Harry.

George supposes that the three of them — the golden trio — have done worse than this before.

Hermione stares at Ron below George's hiding spot, her face shadowed in the distance.

"Ron," her voice is soft and firm, "if he hurts me, I'll kill him myself."

George rips the extendable ear from his own, unwilling to hear people he loves so dearly be monsters in front of him.

Unwilling to accept that he would do and be the same.