Chapter 50: Johnson Jaunt

Wind and snow flurries buffeted the newspaper copy held up at a vertical angle, the gales and gusts creating new creases and crinkles in the print while also nearly taking it aloft. The front page showed a moving photograph of Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt with his right hand raised and taking the oath of office under the headline INAUGURATIONS ABOUND: SHACKLEBOLT SWORN IN FOR SECOND TERM. Another story, smaller but related and placed just below, depicted Neville taking a similar oath to be dutifully sworn in as a Hogwarts Professor.

Both flickering pictures now bent and cleaved as Ron Weasley quickly folded and stowed his paper, lest it be ripped out of his hands by the wind that swirled this high up in the stands of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch pitch. The dimples about his proud and pleased smile accentuated the pink in his cheeks on this cold and blustery January day.

"I can't believe Ginny actually took a shot that landed itself in the paper!" he whistled, in reference to the photograph of Neville.

At his side, his brother-in-law nodded absently, gaze to the sky, where his wife was running drills. "Yeah. Now if only she could go to making a few!"

Ron frowned, shaking his copy of the Prophet. "I meant the paper, Harry."

"Hm? Oh- oh, oh! Yeah…."

Ron stared back down at the photograph of Neville with smug pride. "How much did the newshounds pay for it, do you reckon? Neville's picture?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Gin just said that Jimmy Peakes offered her a handsome sum." Casting his gaze heavenward, he winced as Ginny's latest shot – this one using a Quaffle rather than her camera – got blocked by Mica Evergreen, the Harpies' Keeper. "She's not focused…."

"Everyone needs to get back in the groove. It's New Year's!" Ron shrugged, tucking the newspaper into the pocket of his overcoat. "My wife is doing it…." He ran his tongue out over the beaming smile on his lips, grinning almost giddily. "Merlin, I love being able to say that!" He shrugged. "Hermione's just put out that we leave on honeymoon for two weeks and…."

"Eh, you didn't miss much," Harry preemptively finished Ron's sentence for him. Though, in truth, quite a bit had been missed: between Kingsley being sworn in for his second term as Minister and Neville making the transfer to Hogwarts at last, 2003 was setting up to be a banner year.

A statuesque, exotic and dark-skinned woman was now hiking up into the stands towards the men; from this far away, Harry assumed at first that it was Gwenog Jones. But as she drew nearer, he realized it was Angelina Johnson. Pulling up to them, he couldn't help but notice that, for someone who had been a Quidditch star herself back in school, and for someone who still appeared reasonably fit, she looked winded.

"Wotcher, you two."

"Hey, Ange," Harry waved.

The dark-skinned beauty took a seat next to her boyfriend's brother and brother-in-law, her eyes following the speck in the sky that was Ginny. Angelina hissed through a clenched under-bite. "She hasn't loosened up yet, has she?"

"No, apparently not," Harry murmured.

"I'd chalk it up to stress at home," quibbled Ron, who was hardly paying any real attention. He didn't even really notice Harry's warning glare as he pressed on. "Is it really true that Kreacher went after our poor Teddy over a Chocolate Frog? And Ginny actually defended the git?"

"Which git are we talking about?" Angelina cut in. "It better be Kreacher." The men ignored her.

"Yeah. You should have seen us trying to reason with him – it was like corralling Gollum from Lord of the Fucking Rings!"

Ron paused. "Remind me: Gollum's the really short one with the anger issues…." Harry started to nod. "…. and the axe?"

….. Oh my Godric…. Harry inhaled a deep and cleansing breath through his nose. "That's Gimli," he corrected. "Gollum is the ugly thing who is covetous of the ring."

Angelina oddly squirmed at this, her mind somewhere else except for when she heard: "Ring? What ring?"

"Muggle movie," Harry explained dismissively. A beat, and then he and Ron turned their heads on a slow swivel towards George's partner. "Speaking of rings…"

Angelina frowned hard, holding up a pre-emptive hand. "Don't."

"Oh, come off it, Ange!" Ron bawled. "At least give us some indication when the bloke is going to get off his arse!"

"We're not going to be pressured into it, and especially not George! The man hasn't even so much as proposed to me yet! If we're the last ones, we're the last ones, and we'll jolly well get married when we're ready to!"

That seemed to be the end of that. "So…. George hasn't even so much as bought a ring?"

"My precious….." Ron hissed, sounding as if he was dying.

Harry shot him a glare. "Shut up."

It didn't nearly match the ferocity of Angelina's. "Drop it, Potter," she growled. "Honestly, you're as bad as your wife!"

Harry actually took this in with a bit of encouragement: there was once a time when Ginny hadn't approved of Angelina and George even dating, let alone possibly one day getting married.

Ron lifted his gaze skyward just in time to see Ginny weave past Mica Evergreen and make a truly difficult shot. He clapped resoundingly. "There we go!"

George flipped the joke shop's front sign to CLOSED, gazing out into the still winter's night of Knockturn Alley. It had been a long and trying day. The best he could say for it was that it would be the last one in which he was working both the front and the back of the shop alone; Ron was due back on the clock in the morning, fresh off his honeymoon with Hermione.

The surviving Weasley twin clopped up the steps to the loft where he lived above his place of business. Slipping inside the tiny flat, he turned for the fridge, suddenly in need of a drink. The pang of grief washed over him quite unexpectedly, completely unrelated to his most recent thoughts of his newly married little brother. Another brother had now taken Ron's place in his mind:

It was winter now, yet eventually spring would come round again…. and with it what would have been Freddy's 25th birthday. George and his twin had laughed a bit about what they would do on that auspicious occassion – mostly make jokes about quarter life crises at Mum's expense, make the old girl feel her age a bit.

George blinked. He was still staring vapidly at the closed door of his refrigerator, and had been for close to two minutes.

"Hey, Slugger."

George turned at his pet name for him: Angelina was standing in the doorway to their bedroom, a nightdress with tempting cleavage slung over her lithe, toned and lean frame. She beckoned to him, taking his wrist and guiding his one palm to cup the swell of her clothed breast. "Come on, then: let's make love."

He marveled at how this breathtaking woman should declare such a thing so casually, yet at the same time be so assertive, indeed, almost frantic, as she moved him to the bed, pushed him onto his back and swung her chocolate-creamy thighs over his hips as she audaciously moved to straddle him. Slipping her nightie up and over her head, she cast it aside so that it pooled with a rustle at the foot of the mattress.

Angelina rode him, bounced up and down on him so that the mattress springs creaked in metronomic-perfect time to her sighs, grunts and yips – noises which soon elongated into alto and melodious moans of pleasure once George began to thrust up into her. The couple both came together, damn near simultaneously, with twin whimpers.

Angelina languidly rolled off of her lover, pressing her naked and sweat-slicked form tightly against his, resting her head on his chest. George just stared up at the ceiling, thoughts wandering from that bloody hot, if somewhat mechanical, shag, back towards his brother.

Though, he did have to give Angelina due credit for one thing: her urges were making her horny such that she was becoming an even more wonderfully accomplished partner in bed.

Angelina now was strumming her fingers along his chest hair. She kissed his sternum. "I saw your brother today."

"Hm? Which one?"

She snorted. "You know perfectly well which one." For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him about how she had gone to visit Fred's grave, until she oddly chuckled. "You know, Ron tries to act like he's a big man, flaunting his paper and now that he's married, but he is still just a tosser of a kid…."

"Mmm-hmm," George rumbled absently, stroking her dark hair.

She snorted. "And Potter's absorbed far too much of Ginny and Hermione's influence for my liking. Acting all nosy…."

"Huh? Harry, nosy? What was he on you about?"

Angelina shrugged. "I'm sure he only did it because no doubt Ginny made him ask me or something! Godric, if I told her how much she is starting to act like her mother, she'd probably hex me! Or bar me from attending her practices anymore."

"Ange, what are you talking about?"

She fixed him with a pointed stare. "I'm talking about how I'm having to field the family's questions over when we are going to get married."

George's blue eyes widened just a bit, and then he nodded almost lethargically, mind still wandering. "Ah. Well….. I'm sorry that you are having to go through that. Want me to play Beater interference?"

She made an odd noise in the back of her throat, wanting to come off annoyed and yet unable to help but be amused. "On everyone asking us about our wedding? I think I can handle it, love." Her soft and supple, yet strong hands ghosted down to cup her still-flat stomach. A brief silence and then:

"….. We still have to name him….."

George turned his head to ponder her. "You know there's only one name that will do."

"Hmm," Angelina allowed him a ghost of a smile. "I know…." Exhaling, she nuzzled her face into his chest. "Godric, what will your mum say about this news….? – Don't answer that," she swatted down when George started to open his mouth in reply.

For a long moment, the expecting couple just lay there, pondering and panicking over the future. At last, Angelina rolled onto her stomach, pressing her chin to George's clavicle and gazing into his eyes.

A beat, and then:

"….. Let's get married."

George gawped at her. "What, now?!"

"Yes, now!" Angelina laughed at him, her dark eyes gleaming. "Why shouldn't we just go ahead and do it? Now that your brother and Hermione have their little love nest, everybody is going to be on our case wondering when we'll get hitched; hell, they already are! It won't be that many more months before the little surprise is starting to show itself, and I'd rather not face your mum and dad's judgment about that. So come on: marry me, Weasley! Let's elope! It's now or never!"

George sat up in the bed they shared. "You're serious….."

"As a heart attack." Beaming, Angelina leaned in and sultrily kissed him. "There's the courthouse just off of Gringotts…. and it has all-night hours."

To his shock, George slowly found himself nodding. Giggling, Angelina kissed him again.

"Then it's settled. We're getting married – tonight. I'll put on my best dress!"

The clock was nearing just before midnight as George Weasley and Angelina Johnson stood solemnly before a bleary-eyed Justice of the Peace. The bride was in a simple white dress, accessorized with a kind of traveling cloak that was matching in color. George had managed to scrounge up his tuxedo from where he had only just rehung it in his closest following the celebration of his baby brother and sister-in-law. Those who cared about such things might have found the color contrast – white dress on dark skin, dark suit on white skin – jarring, but Angelina and George were two people who could have given the least damn about such things.

"Do you take each other in holy matrimony for better or for worse?" the justice of the peace asked, almost through a yawn.

Angelina studied her groom solemnly, breathlessly. She nodded with a graveness matching the seriousness of her decision. They were doing the right thing – and if there was any pressure to do the deed and get hitched, the only amount of it she felt came from herself. "Yes, I do…." she whispered.

George quietly echoed her. "Then by the power vested in me by the courts and the Wizengamot, I now pronounce this couple husband and wife. You may kiss."

Angelina threw her arms about George's neck and snogged him soundly, sighing into the kiss so that her lips parted as the man drew her close and kissed her back.

The new Mr. and Mrs. George Weasley exited the courthouse all smiles and arm and arm to a sleeping Diagon Alley as silent as the grave. Such a lovely ceremony: if only there had been anyone about and awake to witness it, aside from a notary and a janitorial house elf who had been dragged into the courtroom to personally observe and sign off on the union.

Angelina now procured a broom from behind her traveling cloak and mounted it. She smirked back at her… her husband.

"Come on, then!"

George swung astride it. "So now you're telling me we're going on a honeymoon? With no notice?"

"Weasley, come off it: we're being spontaneous!"

"But what about the – SHOP?!" George's last word pitched into a shout as Angelina kicked off for the skies. The wind howled over the sound of his bride's laugh. Rocketing towards the moon in the distance, the newly wed couple shared a deep kiss captured only in its light.

And once they were well on their way, a broomstick was not all that Angelina mounted, as she before long then mounted her husband and mated with him.

Ron arrived at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Knockturn Alley location early the next morning. He had been reluctant to leave his Hermione's arms after such a wonderful night of hot shagging, but his wife had insisted that he go. Go into work.

Well…. just because the honeymoon was over did not mean the high from it had to be.

To his surprise, the windows were still dark when he got there. Perhaps George and Angelina were still up in the loft, still sleeping in, even though Ron knew that wasn't like his brother. Procuring his copy of the key, Ron let himself in and flicked on the lights.

"Halloo in here!" No answer. He frowned. "….. George? Angie?" Still nothing.

A less distracted and more curious Ron might have stolen up the back stairs to peek in the loft, but he did not. The newly married man merely contented himself with setting up the joke shop for the day. He decided that George had to be at the Hogsmeade Village location, perhaps even manning the fort there with Lee Jordan. Hogsmeade was, after all, proving to be the bigger seller, between the two franchises.

Even so, by the time Ron had closed up shop here in Knockturn Alley after managing a pretty long day of his own, and all by himself, he was beginning to grow concerned. Just before he left, he rang up the Hogsmeade branch, and got through to Lee Jordan.

"Hey there, mate. Is Georgie with you?"

Ron's blood ran cold at Lee's reply: "I thought he was with you. He hasn't turned up all day!"

"The entire day?"

"No. I've tried Patronusing him – he won't answer! Angelina's gone silent too!"

Thank Merlin that Harry and Hermione had finally taught him how to use a felly – telephone properly. Immediately upon hanging up, Ron sent out a frantic Patronus of his own, and then Disapparated to Devonshire and the Burrow. Bloody hell, he was so concerned, he gladly would have run the full however many miles it was on foot and without complaint.

He was relieved to find Hermione already with his parents in the kitchen when he got there, along with Bill, Fleur, Victoire, Teddy and Andromeda. Very quickly, the rest of the family gathered.

"Did I just get a Patronus of a Yorkshire terrier, yapping at me that my brother and his girlfriend are missing?!" Ginny cried.

Harry laid a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You say the word, and Robards will send out a search party of our best Aurors!"

"Let's…. give it a little bit of time before resorting to that. He could have just taken a mental health day – although why he would spend it anywhere else but their loft upstairs is beyond me – OW! Bloody hang it all, Pig!"

Hermione gasped as Ron's little owl pretty much wiped out directly into her husband's head. Harry was quick to seize the bird and pry away the roll of parchment currently clutched in its talons.

Ginny almost immediately snatched the missive away from her spouse. "I'll bet it's them!" She unfurled it, scanning line by line, with only her eyes visible above the parchment. By the time she reached the end, she was crying.

"Gin….?" Harry's stomach dropped with concern.

His wife merely shook her head, letting out a sniffle. "It's Georgie and Ange! They've….. they've eloped!..."

From where she sat seated at the kitchen table, her eldest son's hands on her shoulders, Molly went still, and then white. She seemed frozen with horror and even outrage.

For one brief moment, there was silence.

And then the proverbial bomb exploded.

"They did WHAT?!"

Ginny cringed, biting her lip and holding out the missive, signed by one Mr. and Mrs. George Fabian Weasley, for all to see. "And Angie's pregnant."

Harry was just starting to say something about how this had better be a joke, only Molly didn't seem to view it as such. The Weasley matriarch now let out a gasp of horror before she was suddenly swooning. She damn near fell completely out of her chair with Bill only just managing to catch her.

"Bloody hell…. MUM!"

"Watch out, lads – she's going! She's going! Hermione, the smelling salts, in the bath, love, QUICKLY!" Ron roared to make himself heard as he and the rest of Molly's children by blood and marriage descended on the poor, fainting woman.

In time, Molly recovered and eventually accepted the nuptials of her one surviving twin son and his bride, no matter how unorthodoxically they had come about.

And although Angelina's own pregnancy tragically did not last, her marriage to George nevertheless did – a partnership that eventually saw two children and close to 60 years of happiness together.