No, getting here hadn't been easy, alright. Against all odds most of the way, at the whim of luck and chance, with more obstacles to go around than George had ever tried to keep track off, and more often than not kept together by pure stubborness - no, their story had definitely not been a simple one.
Yet, here they were. And he'd damn well do it all all over again if it meant he would still end up here, rounding the corner of the house with one last look over his shoulder and-
-and stopping dead in his tracks at the sight -no, the vision, the absolutely heavenily mirage that greeted him and spurred a torrential swarm butterflies around his stomach, those same ones that had started fluttering about way back when, in that moment in her office at St-Mungo's when his vision had cleared and his entire life had been flipped on its side.
George Weasley believed in making his own damn luck. But he had never quite stopped wondering how he could have been so lucky as to deserve that moment, and all of the other moments that had come after
( ... )
She turned her face toward him, not bothering to hide the smile that was in danger of overwhelming her whole face. She felt giddy- like something in her was releasing her, letting her go- like she was floating in the clouds. It was beyond anything she'd ever dreamed of- or imagined for herself.
How could she possibly feel anything other then excitement for him? Especially with the way he looked- tall and perfect in his suit, his hair just a little mussed the way she liked it, that look on his face-
The way his eyes met hers.
She couldn't help but move toward him, the skirt of her gown brushing lightly against the tall grass.
"Not a chance, Weasley," she said, voice stern even if it wasn't matching her eyes. "In a few moments you're going to be stuck with me, you know-"
She reached out, hands tugging at the lapels of his suit.
"You sure you're still in?" she asked, looking up at him.
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Yet, here they were. And he'd damn well do it all all over again if it meant he would still end up here, rounding the corner of the house with one last look over his shoulder and-
-and stopping dead in his tracks at the sight -no, the vision, the absolutely heavenily mirage that greeted him and spurred a torrential swarm butterflies around his stomach, those same ones that had started fluttering about way back when, in that moment in her office at St-Mungo's when his vision had cleared and his entire life had been flipped on its side.
George Weasley believed in making his own damn luck. But he had never quite stopped wondering how he could have been so lucky as to deserve that moment, and all of the other moments that had come after ( ... )
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How could she possibly feel anything other then excitement for him? Especially with the way he looked- tall and perfect in his suit, his hair just a little mussed the way she liked it, that look on his face-
The way his eyes met hers.
She couldn't help but move toward him, the skirt of her gown brushing lightly against the tall grass.
"Not a chance, Weasley," she said, voice stern even if it wasn't matching her eyes. "In a few moments you're going to be stuck with me, you know-"
She reached out, hands tugging at the lapels of his suit.
"You sure you're still in?" she asked, looking up at him.
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