This is it! The Last Chapter! As usual, JKR owns everything
George’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins.
He’d never been in a fight before.
And now he had annoyed a guy with a knife. This was new.
“What do you want.” Hermione hissed at the man- it wasn’t a question.
The man smiled, a look of lazy evil in his eyes as he leant back on the bar stool.
“I don’t want a problem, monsieur. I just a want a kiss on ze cheek from this young Madame, and ‘zat will be all. Unless you would prefer ‘ze kiss from a blade?” He added, malice glinting in his steel eyes.
George sucked in a breath quickly and loudly, blood now turning from freezing cold to boiling hot.
This guy was disgusting.
“George, don’t.” Hermione warned him. Her eyes locked on his, and he saw how much this hurt her.
He looked away as she pecked the stranger on the cheek.
“There. ‘Zat wasn’t so difficult now was it, non?” The suited man asked, grinning and evidently trying to rub it in George’s face.
Hermione wiped her lips thoroughly before returning to George’s side.
“C’mon, George, let’s go.” She whispered, tugging him by the arm toward the exit.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” George snarled at the creep in front of him. “But never. Do that. Again. Because I will find you, and I will make you pay.”
It was the scariest thing he could think of saying, as he wasn’t a particularly violent man.
It was the best he could do.
Hermione practically ran out into the cool Parisian air. She leant against the brick wall of the club, closed her eyes and breathed heavily in and out.
“I’m sorry, George.” She said, without looking at him.
He understood. Better a kiss than a knife in the chest.
But he still felt raw inside- like someone had winded him. Jealousy is not a pretty thing.
“It’s fine. Are you ok?”
“I’m…alright. Disgusted, but ok. I guess my plan about getting a drink wasn’t such a good idea, huh?” She joked half heartedly.
George shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood for laughter at the moment.
“Back to the hotel?” He suggested. Anything to get away from that club.
“We can’t let this ruin the holiday.” Hermione urged as they walked back through the alleys lit by the stars to the hotel.
“Of course it won’t, love.” He promised, shrugging off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders.
He promised himself that, as well.
It was their final night in Paris- and Hermione wasn’t surprised to know that George had booked them a meal in possibly the poshest restaurant he could find. The amount of guilt she felt due to the expense of this trip still played heavily on the back of her mind…
She went upstairs to get ready, while George was out looking at the shops nearby. She walked into their large bedroom, and on the bed was a rich blue large box, with a small slip of card attached to it.
"My Bookworm" Was all it said.
She couldn’t stop herself from grinning, and she lifted off the lid to reveal a beautiful, flowing gown. As deep a colour as the box lid, and as light as a feather, it clung to her figure and tumbled down into a close ring of satin around her knees. It had one strap, and smelt of cinnamon and lavender- mixed with a gorgeous perfume that sent goose bumps travelling up her arms.
She fit into it perfectly, and turned her attention to the mirror above the sink, so she could fix her mane of curls into something more sophisticated.
An hour later, she was finished. An elegant bun with tassels of brown ringlets framing her face, and some light brown eye shadow was all she wore with the stunning dress. It was 7 o’clock- time to meet George in the foyer. She reached the top of the staircase, and was about to start descending when she noticed that there was an expectant silence echoing in her ears.
She looked up, and her jaw dropped.
Balloons, a small orchestra, and red roses were all she could comprehend.
“George??” She called out, dumbstruck. This wasn’t real- she was dreaming definitely.
“Ok, now guys!” She heard George say to the band behind him. Soft, sweet music began playing and she was transported back to that time in the clearing…with the small harp…and that simple picnic that had been perfect…
She almost ran down the stairs- careful not to rip her beloved dress- straight into George’s arms.
“It seemed stupid to do this at the restaurant; that’s so ordinary. And whatever we have should never, ever be called ordinary.” George told her, passion dancing in his eyes as he started to bend down…
Holy cow this was actually happening! Hermione’s thoughts were all over the place… embarrassment and shock at the extravagance of the display… delight and excitement at the fact he cared so much…
Undying and unyielding love for her red haired man.
“Hermione Jean Granger…” George started- and the orchestra behind him held their notes in a subtle harmony and pause while he said the sentence she had longed to hear-
“Will you marry me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
George blinked. His smile wavered and his eyes widened in disbelief.
The orchestra stopped playing and seemed to look around nervously and a couple of bystanders covered their mouths with their hands in shock…
“I’m JOKING, silly! Of course! YES!”
George breathed a shaky laugh, and his shoulders shook from relief and humour.
“I thought you were serious for a second there, Hermione,” He murmured into her hair as he twirled her round to the sound of applause from the orchestra and hotel staff. “Scared me to death! You’ve been hanging round with the prankster Weasleys far too long…”
Hermione smiled, and George put her down. The orchestra resumed playing, and George kissed her firmly and lovingly on the lips for a good minute or more.
“I love you.” He said.
“I love you.” She replied.
In the corner of the room, far from sight and out of earshot from the happy couple stood a lone figure. His crimson hair was ruffled and his freckles looked see-through under the glare from the chandeliers. The pale man smiled, clapped his hands softly to applaud them, and turned away.
Fred Weasley had promised his brother to be there with him always, and that promise had been kept.
“Come on, Toby! It’s freezing out here, get inside now!” A small girl called from the front door.
“One sec, Annie! I swear there’s a frog round here somewhere!” An older boy called back, sticking his head round the strawberry bush a few metres away.
“Why do you need a frog again?” the girl called back, copper curls that reached her tiny waist being blown softly by the bitter late-winter wind.
“It’s mum and dad’s anniversary tonight- this is my present to them!” He told her.
The girl felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up in surprise. Her dad stood there, grinning lopsidedly and put a finger to his lips.
“Shh” he mouthed to her.
The little girl nodded, and hugged his leg.
“Toby’s got a surprise for you!” She stage whispered, and ran inside into the warm house.
The boy, who looked like he was in his early teens, was looking down into his hands and talking- freckled face grubby with soil and ash brown hair dotted with leaves and twigs. He didn’t see his father in the doorway, so kept on chatting.
“…it’s a brilliant idea, I swear! When they come back from the Chinese, this little fella will be in their be-“
Toby stopped; pale face losing what little colour it had as he took in the image that was his father listening in on his master prankster plan.
“Um… hi…Dad?” He said sheepishly.
George Weasley looked at Tobias Frederic Weasley and raised one eyebrow.
“Hello Toby. Make sure you stay warm, it’s a horrible wind out there.” Was all he said, before winking at his son and walking back indoors.
His wife sat on the sofa, reading a Witch Weekly magazine with a cup of tea in her hand.
“What’s he plotting now, dear?” Hermione Weasley asked her husband without looking up.
“Not quite sure, but wear long trouser bottoms tonight.” He said, kissing the top of her head.
“Oh, really? That’s a shame… I wasn’t planning on wearing any…” Hermione whispered into his ear, setting down her cup and magazine on the mahogany coffee table.
Before George could do any more than respond with a strong kiss on her lips, another voice chimed in.
“MU-UM! That’s gross! Come and play dragons with me instead! PLEEEEEASE!” Annie said from behind the armchair, covering her eyes for dramatic affect.
Hermione sighed, and stood up. 15 years of marriage and she still remained as radiant as ever, despite having a manic twelve year old son and a giggly eight year old daughter.
“Horntail or Ridgeback?” She asked the girl.
Annie thought about it, hands on hips and looking off into the distance, deep in thought.
“Ridgeback, they fly faster! Race you!” she giggled, and ran off into the study, but not before shouting “COME ON, MUM!”
George snorted, and flicked on the television. Feet on the coffee table and cat now purring loudly on his lap, he looked at his wife.
“I love you.” He said.
“I love you.” She replied.
My last chapter *sniff sniff* Thanks for reviewing- shout out to Harveyboy, thank you so much! and also to those clever people who noticed the cliffhanger sort of died, I forgot to paste the other half off the word document, sorry that didn't quite work! ;D thanks for reading and reviewing!~HermioneVoid