End of the Tunnel

XIV

George had done stupid, reckless, terrifying things throughout his entire life. He had acted without thinking and leapt before he looked. His mother had begged him to think of others, or even the safety of himself, but he had only scoffed. He had jumped from the astronomy tower to his broom several stories below. He had dropped out of high school to start a business at the beginning of a war. He had tested wacky inventions without thinking of his insides. Hell, he had taunted Voldemort on live radio while his family was being threatened at every turn. Life was too short to think, too fragile to second guess every decision.

Even after Fred had passed, he had moved forward without thought, until now. Now he was standing in his own kitchen, staring at the bathroom door where Hannah was getting ready for their date, doing nothing but thinking.

It was Christmas Eve, and he could hear her singing carols through the door. She had an awful singing voice that he couldn't get enough, every crack of the highest note made him smile. He had tentatively asked her once, and she informed him she knew. She had tried out for every choir and they had all turned her away. She insisted singing was not a talent but a joy and no matter how awful it was she would keep doing it, even if it was only in her own home. He couldn't get enough. On days he was there to watch, she paid him no mind as she danced and threw her head back in untamed delight. She was mostly likely dancing, now serenading the mirror with a hairbrush to her lips. He wanted to enjoy the mental image, but he couldn't, not with his coat pocket heavy and his palms clammy.

And he couldn't stop fidgeting!

One second, he was drumming his fingers against the counter, the next he was pacing, and the next he was opening every cabinet within reach, staring at the unchanging plates. He had almost gnawed a hole through the inside of his cheek, and he had stubbed his toe twice; he was almost certainly going crazy.

Everything was planned. He had rehearsed his speech for hours the night before, sneaking off to the bathroom once she was asleep. The contents of the velvet box in his pocket had been approved by Malfoy at the store and Sloane in the corner of some publicity event he hadn't wanted to go to. He had spoken to Mr. Gladdis (and Henry, of course) and they had both patted him on the back, wishing him the best of luck. He had even swallowed his pride and spoken to his own father on the matter. He had picked out the spot. He had even picked out a coat with large enough pockets to hide the box until the perfect moment, and yet he couldn't stop worrying.

He worried about the nonexistent wrinkles in his suit. He worried he would get tongue tied. He worried that his hair looked terrible. He worried that the ring wouldn't fit, or that the diamond wasn't big enough, or simply that despite Malfoy and Sloane's insisting, she wouldn't like it. He worried that a snowstorm would blow her away from him. He worried that a past lover with a Brazilian accent would whisk her away. He worried that a wall would crush him just as he dropped to his knee. But most of all, he worried she would say no.

Finally, finally, the door opened, and his angel stepped out of the bathroom. She was dressed for the cold, just as he had requested. Her dress was made of cream-colored knitting, her boots ready for a walk through the snow.

"You look gorgeous," he said, only managing a whisper as he stared at the woman he was lucky enough to have standing in his apartment.

"You look rather handsome yourself," she replied, pulling on a hat and a pair of mittens. He hoped she didn't notice his hands shaking when he helped her into her coat. If she did, she didn't say anything about, just smiled and waited for him to take her arm.

They landed with a crack and before George had fully gathered his bearings she was gasping with delight, staring at the picturesque town that surrounded them. Snow was falling around them, catching on her eyelashes as she stared.