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George had managed to nab the keys to Angelina’s flat – why she had to choose a flat without a floo connection, he’d never know – and had chased Katie away for the rest of the day with strict instructions not to tell his girlfriend where he was.
“Fine, Oliver’s expecting me tonight anyway, so I’ll just head there early,” she had eventually given in, rolling her eyes. “Leave the flat in decent order won’t you, George?”
“’Course, Katie. It’ll be exactly like this when you get back.” She had narrowed her eyes distrustingly at that.
He had been waiting for this day for months. Developing a new product specifically for this purpose and he’d finally finished working on it last night. He’d been taking samples of the WWW Firecrackers and messing around with the image transfiguration charms on them until he’d been able to modify them with memory strands. It had involved placing his own personal memories in vials and copying them so that they weren’t lost during the trials. The entwining of the strands with the firecrackers had given them an iridescent shine and the flashing memories were captivating shades of gold, silver and ice blue.
He’d jumped up and down in the labs beneath the shop when it had finally worked. When he could finally see his memories flickering clearly and even hear the voices in them, despite the extraction spells he had weaved into the wards of the room.
Now, standing in Angelina’s flat with his new creations, he hoped that he would soon be jumping up and down with joy for a different reason.
He placed the modified firecrackers around Angelina’s flat, leading in a trail from the front door to the small roof terrace that was accessible by climbing out of the large, sash window in her bedroom. They were placed in chronological order, a memory of them celebrating on the quidditch pitch, her kindness to him when they reconnected after the war, seeing her waiting for him in the shop as she laughed with his nieces, the blush on her face as he pulled her into the Burrow their first Christmas together. He placed the first time they’d said they loved each other where it had happened in her kitchen, wrapped around each other’s naked forms on the floor, just before black smoke had started pouring out of the oven.
The memory that he placed in the bedroom was of the first time Angelina had mentioned having kids. He didn’t even know if she remembered it. They’d been out with Katie, Oliver and Lee for New Years Eve and she’d gotten completely trashed on elf wine so he’d brought her back to the flat and tucked her into bed, where she had mumbled into his chest, “let’s not make Lee Godfather when we have kids,” before yawning and falling asleep.
It had sent emotion soaring through him and he’d wrapped himself around her that night with his hands resting gently on her abdomen, picturing in his alcohol addled mind, what it might feel like to have his child in there.
Once he’d set up all the firecrackers, primed to set off once Angelina stepped into proximity of each one, he retreated out onto the roof terrace and waited, listening.
He heard the first one go off just after five, so at least she’d finished work on time. As it did so, he also heard her shout, “George! What the hell?”. He stayed silent.
Then the next memory sparked to life, and the third, and the fourth but then nothing from the kitchen.
“George!” Angelina shouted, “George Weasley, where the bloody hell are you?”. And to his horror, she started coughing loudly. “I’m…cough…bloody serious…cough cough...can’t see…cough…a damn…cough…thing!”
George immediately knew what had happened and cursed himself for his own stupidity.
“George!” his girlfriend wailed again from somewhere inside her flat, and the tone of desperation in her voice had him diving through the window and dashing out the bedroom door into a hallway that was filled with sparkling smoke drifting from the living area. He cast a finite to stop the firecracker he’d set off behind him in the bedroom and disactivated the one in the kitchen area before running past it into the mass of smoke.
“Angelina? Angie? Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid.”
He couldn’t see anything at all past the end of the hallway so waved his wand to open the windows in the flat and cast the same extraction spell he’d weaved into the wards around the lab to send the thick smoke outside.
Angelina was curled into the foetal position on the floor at the end of the sofa and she had pulled a blanket off the back of it to cover herself with.
“Baby,” George murmured to her as he wrapped himself around her, peppering her hair with kisses. “I’m so sorry, Angie. I didn’t think.”
“I figured that out, George,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry. I love you.” He picked her up and cradled her, blanket and all, to his chest, carrying her through the flat to the roof terrace.
“I love you too, you dolt,” she chuckled as she craned her neck to kiss his jaw. “Just what the hell were you trying to do?”
He placed her down on the ledge that ran around the edge of the roof terrace and got down on one knee in front of her, summoning the rose and the small, velvet box from the outdoor table in the corner.
“This,” he said, opening the box so she could see the sapphire ring nestled within. “I want nothing more than to be your husband, Angelina. You’ve been the only girl for me for a while now and tonight you were meant to see just how long I’ve loved you. I’m sorry I’m a dolt but I’m your lovable dolt so I can only hope you’ll say yes despite it. Will you… Will you marry me?”
“All you had to do was ask, you idiot,” she smiled, placing her warm hands on either side of his face and leaning in to press her lips to his.