Breaking the Code, Ch. 3

Rated "M"

George and Angelina try to move on after Fred's death – possibly together. This chapter is from Angelina's point of view, and yes, this is going to be longer than I expected. The muse is with me right now and I never turn her away. I had to increase the rating to "M" because of the content of at least one coming chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews are fabulous!

"You've got a package, Angelina," Lee Jordan shouted as he approached her desk. "It's from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Lovely – now the inquisition will begin in earnest, Angelina thought as she slid deeper down into her chair. She didn't slide far enough, however – Lee could tell she was there. Angelina adored Lee – his knowledge of quidditch and his connections as a part-time commentator gave her insight as to who might be in the market for different equipment. He'd also been a good friend, but sometimes, his concern bordered on nosiness.

"Come to think of it," Lee continued without encouragement, "you did take a particularly long lunch today. Did you pay our friend Georgie a visit?"

Angelina didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled slowly and for noticeably longer than usual.

"I went to get Andrew some April Fool's goodies and I must have left them behind."

"So, you went to George's shop, chose some products, paid for them, then forgot them?"

"I didn't have to pay-"

"Oi! What makes you so special? I always have to pay . . . oh, wait, never mind," Lee said with a smirk.

Angelina stood up, crossed her arms and glared at Lee.

"Never mind WHAT, exactly?"

"Forget about it."

"No. I really want to know what you're thinking. Tell me."

"I think I have some work to do," Lee said as he practically sprinted from the office.

Periodically during the afternoon, Angelina would look around for Lee to question him further, but to no avail. It wasn't until the end of the day she finally opened the package and read the card:

"Lovely to see you again. Please don't run away. Hope to see you Saturday night. George."

Angelina thought about the card for hours. She thought about it while she packed up for home, while she visited her sister's family to drop off the presents for her nephew Andrew, while she prepared her milk and lavender-scented Epsom salt bath to soak her muscles still sore from the fall, and while she lay in the tub. She even read the card while she was trying to find a comfortable position that would let most of her stay underwater.

Wait a minute – am I or am I not a witch? With that, she silently waved her wand to stretch the tub to accommodate her long legs. She also warmed up the water, so she could contemplate the day's events.

Before Verity came back to the storage room, there was a moment. The kind of moment she hadn't experienced in a long time. The kind that makes one's heart flutter like a snitch's wings, creates the need to swallow hard and brings every sense into sharp focus. The rest of the universe ceases to exist and two people become lost in each other. These were sensations she hadn't expected.

George was always Fred's brother who she occasionally caught looking at her in an other-than-a-friend way. It wasn't the kind of looking like some dirty old man looks a young girl way, but the kind that exposed something that was normally hidden. It was the kind of look that made her wish she had learned legilimency. The few, brief times their eyes had met when he'd done this, she'd felt he'd glimpsed into her soul.

That's what had made this afternoon so unsettling – for the first time, George had had a very long look into her eyes, and she was afraid of what he'd seen. While she was trying to see what was different about him so she could distinguish him from Fred, he was looking for something as well, but she wasn't exactly sure what – hope, love, solace, pity – or some combination of the above.

But that wasn't all that was bothering her; she also found herself dissecting the second sentence: Don't run away. Yes, it was true she'd fled the scene in a rather dramatic fashion, but she knew he was referring to more. Then there was Lee's remark, basically meaning he wasn't surprised George hadn't charged her, like he knew something about George that she didn't. The theory that was forming in her head was one she wanted to dismiss – the idea that George had romantic feelings for her, and that maybe he'd had them all along, was a bit much to take. "Girl falls for dead first love's twin brother" was something she'd expect to appear as a teaser for a true life feature on the cover of Witch Weekly – on a slow week.

On the other hand, she couldn't deny how he'd made her feel today. If Verity hadn't come in, they might have kissed. They were breathing the same air, almost to the point of fighting for the same oxygen. She closed her eyes so she could remember how his long, slender fingers had caressed her cheeks while his large, steady hands had cradled her head. She imagined, as she lay in the bathtub, how those fingers might explore the rest of her. Would he greedily grab her, or would he stroke her skin and linger over her features?

What she wanted to know – what she desperately needed to know – was if this was about two people seeking a respite from grief, or the start of something new and potentially wonderful. There was only one way to find out.

Angelina drained the tub, rinsed off in the shower, wrapped her hair in a towel, wrapped herself in a thirsty white terrycloth bathrobe, slid into her slippers, and darted to her desk. She pulled out a small piece of parchment along with a quill and ink well and wrote the following note:

Dear George,

Sorry for my sudden departure this afternoon. Thank you so much for sending over Andrew's presents. He deployed one dungbomb before I left and I'm hoping the hangman while motivate him to improve his spelling.

Of course I'll be there on Saturday. Please let me know what you'd like me to bring a bottle of so we can get the evening off on the right foot.

Take care,

Angelina

She didn't want to sign it "your friend" for fear of limiting the possibilities, nor did she want to sign it "love" to inadvertently push things forward too fast.

"Okay, Beryl," she instructed her owl, "get this to George Weasley at the Burrow. Don't let me down, girl."

Angelina threw open her window and Beryl vanished into the night sky. A short time later, George found he was awakened by pecking on the window.

"Who in the devil can be sending me a message this time of night?" George muttered while he opened hi s desk drawer in search of an owl treat. Once he retrieved a snack, he opened the window. He didn't recognize the Northern Saw-whet Owl at first, but once he read the message, he remembered Angelina visiting it at the Hogwarts Owlery a few times.

"Hang on a minute, my lovely," George said as he gave Beryl one treat but held the other back so he could reply.

Dear Angelina,

Considering what I'm making, I think a red wine or oak-matured mead would complement the meal perfectly. I'll leave it to you to choose.

Looking forward to Saturday,

George

George rolled up the parchment, tied it to Beryl's ankle, gave her the last treat, and shooed her out the window.

Even though Angelina was under her covers, she couldn't sleep. She knew she was a heavy sleeper and wanted to know George's reply before she nodded off. When she heard Beryl scratching at the window, she ran to let her inside.

She grinned ear-to-ear when she read his reply.

Perfect, she thought.