Falling For

The cold was seeping through the windowpane as I wrapped my fingers in the loose threads of the blankets. George was sleeping soundly beside me, curled into a question mark as his lips brushed the soft pillows. I was content that morning, a night full of passion and love and kisses swallowing the aches and pains I had gathered and collected while George was away. I no longer worried about Noël. Loving George was all I needed.

His foot stirred as I sat up, wrapping the sheet around my bare body. The mirror caught my reflection and I noted my rosy cheeks and smiled. Everything felt a bit brighter, even though the sky outside was grumbling with grey snarls.

There was a knock on the door. I perked up, dropping the sheet. “Hold on.” I took a bra, and a dress from the chest of drawers and flattened my hair. “Come in.” George rustled beneath the blanket, registering the door opening and hiding his red head beneath the sheets.

“Mignon, they found Bathilda Bagshot dead in her house!” Noël grasped the doorframe, taking in the lump that lurked in the middle of my bed. He smiled, then his eyes flicked back to me. “She’d been dead for a few days apparently. Found her hollowed out on her bedroom floor.”

“Oh Merlin, Noël. That’s lovely news for a morning.” I snorted at him. His eyes steeled over.

“They say it has something to do with You-Know-Who.”

“Great.” My shoulders fell as chills enveloped my body, George sitting up. He tousled his hair with his big hands and concentrated on the man in the doorway.

“Mornin’ Noël. What’s this about Batty?”

“She’s dead.” I muttered at him and his face fell.

“I should probably get back and let the family know then.” He shrugged, the sheet falling down to his lap. His white skin shone awkwardly in the lack of winter sun. “Can’t trust the Prophet.” His freckles dotted every inch of the skin my fingers longed to touch. Noël shrugged and nodded.

“Not that you could, ever.” He grinned, grabbing the door handle. “I will leave you two to it.”

“Thanks Noël.” I beamed as he shut the door. I leapt over to the bed and crawled onto him. “Sweetheart,” I watched him flop back down into the sheets. My fingers lingered on his stomach “will you at least let me make you breakfast?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “Only if we could, er, romp a little more before I leave.”

“George Weasley! You have turned into some raging sex fiend within the space of a day.”

“I just lost my spark for a while. Being a businessman takes it out of you. Now that I’m unemployed and cramped up, I’ve got all this energy and I don’t know what to do with it.” He nudged me. “It’s like being back at school.”

I frowned and trailed my finger through the thin line of hair trailing down his stomach.

“Aren’t you worried about You-Know-Who?” His eyes clouded. “If Noël isn’t spinning things out of proportion from the rumour mill, that means he was here.”

“It also gives Harry a reason to be here.” He threw his arm over my shoulder and pulled me down to his height. “And there’s no big hullaballoo about them being found dead. I mean, if they were, the whole country would be in shambles right now. So that means, if my calculations and common sense were correct, that they managed to escape. So You-Know-Who would have been semi-defeated again and is off searching for them.”

“Complicated.”

“But it makes sense?” George turned his head to look at me and swept in to kiss the tip of my nose. “Sure it’s kind of scary knowing that he was probably here, but no one was hurt but ol’ Batty, and she was a walking corpse for a while there, I heard.”

“I suppose.” I drifted off and he kissed my nose again.

“It’s okay, love. The offer is still there. You can move back home with me. Only you will really be with Ginny, because mum’s still a little antsy about boy-girl-relations in her house. At least, not while we’re still just dating.”

“It’s calming knowing that in a few years I’ll be able to sleep with my boyfriend-“

“-husband-“

“-husband under his mothers roof. But I suppose it’s her choice.”

“And when we have kids of our own, any boy that lays a finger on our daughter will be locked in the cupboard with a boggart.”

“Fierce.” I grinned. He leant in and kissed me softly, holding my face with his rough hands and biting my lip. I smiled into his touch and curled my fingers into his soft ginger hair and went for his neck.




The week crept by and it was New Years. We were curled up at the Burrow as we drank soft wines and talked about school. And as the red heads babbled on about exploding toilets, I thought of my mother and what she was doing. Probably shacked up nice and cosy with her gypsy de facto and plotting new romances. Also probably happy. It was a good feeling, knowing that I had her pinned.

“I am very excited for your wedding, Mignon.” Fleur whispered to me. I choked on my wine, accidently spitting it back into the glass. Everyone in the room looked at me and I blushed.

“Sorry.” I excused myself and they returned to chatting avidly. Fleur looked curiously my way, reaching over to touch my shoulder. “My wedding?”

“I’m sure it will be coming soon, after this mess is over.” She smiled at me. My brows rose. Her English was getting better, like Noël’s. “I will help you plan it if you like.”

I thought for a moment – a beautiful white dress, turning down the aisle and seeing my beautiful George, the orchard in full bloom as the music swept in the cool spring breeze. I think my eyes welled with tears.

George caught my eye and smiled and my heart clenched. I was so in love with him, with the idea of a ring on my finger… oh, oh the feeling was just so real. The epiphany of wanting to spend the rest of my life with that one man that kept me up at night and helped me sleep through terrors.

Fleur’s hand gripped my shoulder once more and a smile crept onto my face.

“I’d love that.”