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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I own the song 'Soul Sister' by Train.

Here's a little one-shot I've had written for a while; hopefully, that will tide my readers over as you all wait for Real Ladies!




Angelina Johnson looked up quickly from her Quidditch playbook, towards the kitchen window when she heard a sharp rapping on the glass, and she smiled automatically when she saw the tawny owl sitting on the sill. It was a warm morning in June, and the owl was bringing the first piece of mail that day. She always looked forward to that. She pushed back the chair she was sitting in, opened the window, and then turned towards the living room.


 


“George,” she called out, leaning against the edge of the counter as she waited for the man to respond. It took a few moments to hear any form of reply, which eventually came in the form of his footsteps down the hallway.


 


A redheaded man popped his head into the kitchen, a bit of strangely-colored purple dirt on his cheeks and a pair of orange goggles guarding his eyes, both from the experiments he was undergoing in the spare room of his flat. “Yes, love?” he replied, as if he didn’t notice the rather large owl now resting on the faucet of the sink. He probably didn’t; the glasses disturbed his peripheral vision.


 


“We have a letter,” she pointed towards the owl, and it hooted, as if calling attention to itself.


 


“Indeed we do,” the man said jollily, pulling back a chair from the table and dropping down into it, resting his long arms on the tabletop. George always liked to be around when any mail arrived, even though the mail itself interested him very little.


 


Angelina went to the owl, feeding it a treat from the jar on the counter before she untied the brown paper square from its leg. She brought the letter to the table and sat down, and then she peeled away the layer of brown paper, revealing a small white square. Immediately, she frowned.


 


“What is it?” George questioned, alerted by her change in expression. He looked down at the envelope, which Angelina clutched tightly in her hands.


 


“Oh, Merlin,” she muttered quietly, staring at the calligraphy on the front of the gold-edged envelope.


 


Miss Angelina Johnson and Mister George Weasley.


 


Angelina knew exactly what the envelope held, and it did not make her want to smile. However, she continued to open it, sliding her fingernail under the seal and pulling out the piece of cream-colored parchment, the finest parchment available. If the calligraphy had not entirely revealed its identity, the pearl trim, pinked edges, and golden script finished the job.


 


“Shit,” Angelina swore, opening the tiny card. “‘Mister and Missus Arthur Weasley cordially invite you to the wedding of their only daughter, Ginevra Weasley, to Harry Potter, on-’” Ending her reading of the invitation early, she flung it down on the table and stared disdainfully at it.


 


George stared silently at her in confusion. “Erm, Angelina, what did the invitation do to you?”


 


“Ginny is getting married.” She sounded shocked to hear her own voice saying those words aloud.


 


“They’ve been engaged for three years, Ang,” George responded, truly baffled by his girlfriend’s actions. She never acted this odd. He was the odd one, and he was very used to that. A sudden change was not working for him. “Did you think they would never get married?”


 


Angelina scowled at him. “Of course I didn’t think that. I knew they would get married!” she snapped at him. “I’m not an idiot!”


 


“What is your problem, babe?”


 


“I don’t want to go to the wedding.”


 


George threw his hands up. Obviously he could have figured out that much from the way she was acting.


 


“Okay, we won’t go to the wedding,” he retreated. “That’s an easy fix. No wedding for us.”


 


“But we have to go!” Angelina responded.


 


“No one is making you go to the wedding, Angie.”


 


Was there any way to win in this conversation? George was officially more confused than he’d been in a very long time. She was contradicting herself with every single word that left her mouth, and his head was spinning as it attempted to discover why she was acting the way she was. No discovery had been made, and his head was aching.


 


“This is making me go!” she cried out, pushing the invitation towards him and then yanking her hands back, as if the piece of white parchment had burned her. “This stupid invitation is making me go!” After that, Angelina fell onto the table, her brown curls falling over her arms, making her the perfect picture of a purely insane, melodramatic woman.


 


“It’s a piece of paper.”


 


She whipped her head back up to glare at him. “It’s parchment!”


 


George sighed. Of course it was. “Excuse me while I try to figure this out. This piece of paper- oh, parchment- is going to stop you from going from the wedding of two of our closest friends, one of whom is my sister. Am I getting that right?”


 


“That piece of parchment is symbolic!”


 


“Of what, you officially losing your mind?”


 


Angelina narrowed her brown eyes dangerously at George. He half expected her to growl at him or something. “Of course, I’m the one who’s fucking lost my mind. Ginny sent me that fucking invitation, and I’m the one who has lost my mind.”


 


“It’s just an invitation. It’s a courtesy. Gin probably didn’t even send them herself. Look, the calligraphy is way too good. Not even smudged. Gin would leave smudges.”


 


“Harry probably wrote the invitations. A bloke like him would never leave smudges,” Angelina replied, practically seething at the mouth now. George couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so worked up over something like the way she was right then. Even for her, this was rather extreme. “Gay men would never leave a smudge.


 


George massaged his scalp. Five minutes around an angry Angelina, and he already had a throbbing headache. She was talented. “Angelina, babe, Harry isn’t gay.”


 


Angelina gestured angrily at the invitation for the umpteenth time, as if she thought he was going to forget it was there. There was no way in hell he could. “Obviously not, if he’s marrying Ginny!”


 


“Okay,” George retreated. She was making absolutely no sense, and she was contradicting herself. It was confusing him, and his head He had known her since she was eleven years old, and he still couldn’t understand her. He would be amazed if she was making any sense to herself at this point. “Will you at least tell me why this wedding is such a horrific thing?”


 


The melodramatic brunette sighed loudly, rolling her dark eyes towards the ceiling as if she couldn’t believe she had to explain this. George frowned at her; surely she didn’t expect him to understand. There was no way it was possible. She stretched her long arms over her head, and then she folded them over her cotton-covered chest.


 


“Ginny is getting married,” she said shortly. “Ginny. She’s going to wear a white dress, she sent out pearl-edged invitations, and I’m going to be a bridesmaid.”


 


George raised an eyebrow. He suddenly knew where this was going.


 


“Do you know what bridesmaid means, George? It means I’m not the one getting married,” Angelina stated, her smoldering brown eyes coming to rest on him again. She was incredibly frightening when she glared at him like that. He shuddered as she continued. “I’ve lost the right to wear that white dress, I’m never going to send my own pearl-edged invitations, and I’ll forever be the bridesmaid.I’m the girl who isn’t getting married.”


 


“Are you saying you want to get married, Angie?”


 


Angelina crossed her arms over her chest. “Obviously.”


 


He chuckled. “And you decided not to bring this up to me why?”


 


“I assumed since you weren’t proposing or bringing it up, that-”


 


“Angelina,” George began, leaning forward on the table with eyebrows raised. A smirk was resting on his lips. “What happens when you assume?”


 


Her brown eyes lit up, and she began to smile. “Are you saying-”


 


George held a hand up to her to stop her from continuing, and he reached into the pocket of the white lab coat he wore whenever he was experimenting. He pulled out his wand. “Accio, ring box.”


 


As he waited for a ring box to come flying through the air, Angelina reached across to grab his hand. She was excited, and it was very evident from her bright brown eyes and wide smile. “So you really do want to get married? You weren’t just avoiding it?”


 


“I really hate it when you assume things, love,” George grinned. “You get all worked up over Ginny’s wedding, thinking you’re never going to be like her, and here I was, just waiting to hear that you actually wanted to get married.”


 


The ring box flew into the kitchen right after he said that, landing on the table in front of him. Before Angelina could grab it, he closed his hand over it. She was not going to throw a fit over Ginny’s wedding and then think she could steal away his right to a proposal. He had a throbbing headache because of their previous conversation; she was not ruining the proposal by being impatient.


 


“No, no. We’re going to do this the right way, missy,” George shook his head, sliding out of the chair. He rested his weight on one knee, and slowly, he opened the ring box, holding it up to Angelina’s face. “Angelina, I love you, and I want the world to see you’ll be with me. Will you marry me?” 

 








I want the world to see,


You’ll be with me.


-Soul Sister, Train

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