George heard the voice of his sister and came through from the back room of the shop to greet her. She wasn’t alone but accompanied by Hermione Granger, his brother, Ron’s fiancée. She was sporting a rather fierce hairstyle. On the whole, George thought he preferred her bushy mane to this swept up glamour girl look.
“George, brilliant, you are here,” exclaimed Ginny. “We have a problem.”
“Ladies,” he said and grinned, “I’m all yours. What is it you require? Love Potions, Pygmy Puffs or Vanishing Hats for that particularly bad hair day...” He stopped and forced himself not to look at Hermione or to catch Ginny’s eye. He heard Ginny stifle a snort as Hermione glared at George.
“Ginny,” she said, “this is a ridiculous idea. I just won’t go.”
“Hermione, don’t be daft. You’ll love the Winter Ball.”
“But if Ron can’t take me…” said Hermione sighing, as she started fiddling with some of the shops stock. George noticed her hand seemed to be straying towards the Daydream Potions and she had a sad look on her face.
“What’s ickle- Ronniekins done now?” he asked.
Ginny smothered a grin. “He’s ill,” she said, straight-faced. “Tummy upset.”
“Oh, dear,” said George gravely. “So, what do you need me for?”
“Well,” said Ginny, “I’ve got four tickets for the Quidditch Winter Ball and Ron can’t take Hermione because of his…” she snorted again, “illness. Hermione’s got the most beautiful dress and has this rather glamorous hairstyle but no handsome man to accompany her.” She paused for breath.
George backed away. “Oh, no, Ginny, not me. You know how I hate these formal things.” He turned to Hermione. “I’m sorry. I’d love to help, but...” He paused. “Can’t you ask Seamus or Dean? They’d love to go, I’m sure.”
At the mention of their names Ginny turned puce in the face to stop herself laughing whilst Hermione turned white with what he could only assume was anger.
“It’s entirely their fault that I have no partner,” she said in a low voice desperately trying to rein in her anger.
“Oh,” said George, sensing a good story, “why’s that?”
Hermione pursed her lips together and shook her head so he turned to Ginny.
“Come on, spill,” he said. “It’s your duty to cheer me up, remember?”
Ginny looked across at Hermione and saw her wooden expression. She knew she shouldn’t really be telling George but she couldn’t resist.
“Do you remember the year Ron was made Keeper for Gryffindor? ” she said slowly, keeping an eye on Hermione in case she cast Silencio on her.
“Yes,” he said in a puzzled way. How could he forget being banned from Quidditch, Angelina’s fury and that infernal ‘Weasley is our King’ song?
“Well, I don’t know if you ever knew but there was another Gryffindor that year who wanted to try out for Keeper,” she said.
“Carry on,” said George.
“Do you remember Cormac McLaggan?” said Hermione suddenly.
George scanned his memory. “Big bloke, year below me and...” he paused then continued, “complete prat. Is that the one?”
Ginny laughed. “Yes, that’s the one. Well, the reason he didn’t try out until the next year was because he’d been bet by his mates that he couldn’t eat a pound of Doxy eggs.”
“Yes,” said George and he grinned, “I remember that. What an idiot, but what’s that got to do with Ron?”
“Ron went out last night with Seamus and Dean. They were talking about Quidditch, reliving their ‘glory’ days but Seamus, who never made the team, came up with the idea of eating Doxy eggs.”
“And they’re all ill?” asked George.
“No, they flaming well are not,” interrupted Hermione. “Only my fool of a fiancé was stupid enough to finish them off. Seamus and Dean had two each then stopped. But Ron…” she said it with all the scorn she could muster. “Ron has to prove that he’s better than them and now he’s tucked up in his room at Grimmauld Place expecting me to look after him.”
She broke off her furious tirade at Ron and glared at George, as if it was his fault. George gulped nervously.
“Look...err...Hermione. I’m sorry but it’s just not me, getting dressed up for this type of thing,” he said. Although Fred would have loved it, he thought.
“Oh, it’s hopeless,” cried Hermione dramatically. “I can’t even get my future brother-in-law to accompany me.” She sniffed. “I’ll take the dress back and wash out this stupid hairstyle...” She caught sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite. “Godric, what was I thinking? I look like Professor McGonagall!”
To George and Ginny’s surprise, she burst out laughing and suddenly George was laughing too. He looked at her amused face and it occurred to him that none of them had had much to smile about for the past thirty months. His family and Ron in particular, had been so supportive of him and the shop; perhaps it was time to repay the favour.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come along. Tell me what time and what to wear.”
“Oh, George,” shrieked Hermione and she flung her arms around him. “You’re the most wonderful, nearly-a-brother-in-law in the world!”
“Nice one, big brother,” said Ginny, grinning at him. “You’ll enjoy it, you know. Ludo Bagman’s the guest speaker so if you sit near the front and glare at him long enough, I’m sure you’ll get your money back.”
“Good plan, sis,” he replied. “Mind you, the shop’s doing so well now that his money’s a mere drop in the Black Lake.”
Ginny squeezed his arm as they left the shop. It was always good seeing George smile. “We’ll see you at Grimmauld Place at seven,” she said, “and, George, dress robes, okay.”
George shut the shop early at four and went to his flat above the shop. As he climbed the stairs he felt the familiar sensation of dread because he knew he’d have to enter that room. He sighed knowing that’s where his dress robes were, in a large box, unpacked, sitting at the bottom of Fred’s wardrobe.
He hadn’t been in this room for two weeks and three days. He knew exactly when the last time was, because it was when the waves of despair threatened to overwhelm him that he came in here, desperately hoping that the last two and a half years had been a dream and he’d find his brother, his twin, lying sprawled on his bed just waiting for George to pop a bogey flavoured Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean into his half open mouth.
He walked in and gazed at the bedroom his mum still insisted on coming round to clean. Then he wrenched open the wardrobe door. They had left so much here when they’d moved into Aunt Muriel’s. George found the box he was looking for, perched on a shelf. He opened it and found the dress robes he’d last worn to the Yule Ball, six years ago.
He pulled them out and hugged them to his face. He hadn’t taken a date, just tagged along with Fred and Angelina. He’d watched from their table as Fred had whisked her across the floor. It hadn’t been the first time he’d felt like his twin’s shadow, but it had been the most potent. Then, as the evening had progressed, Fred had suggested, as a joke, that they switch robes, and that George would pretend to be Fred, to see if Angelina could tell the difference.
So, as always, he’d followed Fred’s lead and exchanged robes. He’d walked up to Angelina, with Fred watching from the sidelines and taken her off to dance. A slow song had come on and Angelina had leant in to kiss him. He’d enjoyed, for one millisecond, the soft touch of her lips then pulled away. He couldn’t kiss her, however much he wanted to, this was Fred’s date. Fred’s girlfriend.
He looked closely at the robes he was hugging. Old, and now riddled with Doxy holes, he knew he couldn’t wear them tonight.
“George,” he said to himself, “it’s time to spend some of that cash you’ve hoarded for the past two years.”
Madame Malkin was about to close up when George wandered in.
“Hello, Mr Weasley,” she said in surprise. George was generally unfussed by his appearance and never seemed to want anything new these days.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “I need new dress robes, for a ball. “
She brought out her tape measure and began to assess him. “When is the ball?” she enquired.
“Err... tonight,” he said with an apologetic tone.
She stopped abruptly. “Tonight,” she muttered. There was a long pause. “As it happens, I do have something in the back that may suit and with your colouring...”
She walked briskly through the curtain to her back room then emerged a few minutes later carrying a large box.
“This,” she said as she opened the box and began pulling out dark green velvet robes. “This was made for a gentleman, who never turned up to collect them. He must have decided to wear something else. That green would go so well with your hair, dearie”
George pulled the robes on over his head and peered into the mirror. He wasn’t a vain man, by any means, but the cut and colour of these robes seemed to emphasise the blueness of his eyes and disguised the pallor of his skin. He looked taller, somehow, and knew that they were the robes he should be wearing.
He paid and left the shop in high spirits. Madam Malkin was pleased, too. She’d made those robes for that foreign gentleman who’d sworn he’d be back last week to collect them. Well, now she had his money and George Weasley’s; it had certainly been a profitable day. She decided to close early and treat herself to a drink at The Leaky Cauldron.
George arrived at Grimmauld Place at seven. Harry stood by the fireplace dressed in black robes.
“Hey, George,” he said as he fingered his collar. The white shirt appeared stiff and uncomfortable. “Godric, I hate these things, don’t you? We’ve booked a cab for half past seven. The Ministry don’t want too many of us Apparating at once.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky. “How about a quick one before Ginny and Hermione get down?”
“Mmm, good idea, Harry,” replied George. “I thought you’d be used to these parties now? You and Ginny always seem to be invited everywhere, these days.”
Harry looked at him darkly. “That’s the trouble. Too many bloody parties and the same questions again and again. The number of times I’ve had to relive that moment when Hagrid carried me through the forest.” He sighed. “Sorry, George, I don’t mean to sound like this but I sometimes wonder whether I’ll ever get the chance to be normal...”
George laughed, a touch bitterly. “You’re speaking to a bloke with one ear, Harry. I understand completely what it’s like to be stared at!”
“Still,” said Harry, sighing, “this ball could be fun. Lots of Quidditch players going. We might even see some old team mates and rivals there. I’m sure Oliver’s going and Davies.” He looked across at George who was looking at him in bemusement. “Roger Davies, that Ravenclaw Chaser. He went to the Yule Ball with Fleur, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” said George. “I must remind Fleur of that next time I see her. Didn’t she fool around with him in a rose bush, or something?”
Harry laughed loudly just as Ginny and Hermione walked in.
“What’s so funny?” asked Ginny suspiciously as she looked from one to another.
“We were remembering the Yule Ball and Fleur’s date,” said Harry mischievously. “Davies couldn’t believe his luck.”
Ginny snorted but Hermione’s face assumed a slightly dreamy expression.
“Oh, I loved the Yule Ball,” she whispered. “Such a perfect night.”
“Except for the row you had with my brother,” said George. “We heard that all over Gryffindor Tower. I think that’s when Fred and I knew you’d end up together.” He chuckled and ignored the silence that had descended the room because he’d mentioned Fred’s name. “How is my baby brother, anyway?”
Hermione’s face switched from dreamy to disapproving instantly. “He’s upstairs moaning at Kreacher. I swear he thinks I should be by his side mopping his brow. Well, I won’t. I’ve had an extremely hard year at the Ministry trying to get house-elf rights put on the agenda. I think it’s time I had some fun!”
George finished his drink and walked over to her. He wholeheartedly approved of this new Hermione.
“Miss Granger,” he said, taking her arm, “will you do me the honour of accompanying me to this ball?”
She smiled at him. “I accept. By the way, have I told you how handsome you’re looking this evening in those wonderful robes?”
The Quidditch Winter Ball was being held in a large marquee in Battersea Park, London. To Muggle passers-by it appeared as if there had been a major incident of some kind. The area was cordoned off with bollards and police tape. The Quidditch League had even hired some wizards to dress up as ‘polite-men’ to deter the curious. As some of these wizards looked as if they were part-troll, the deterrent was very effective.
“Are you quite sure this is where your fancy dress party is?” said the taxi driver to the foursome in the back of his cab. “There was a major incident here two nights ago.”
“This is fine,” said Harry. Hermione reached inside her sparkly evening bag and found a crisp twenty pound note.
“Keep the change,” she said firmly.
“I’m not sure I should be leavin’ you here,” said the cabbie stubbornly.
George looked over at Ginny who was standing behind Harry. She withdrew her wand and muttered something very quietly. He saw the man’s face cloud over. “Right you are then,” he said dazedly. Then he started up the car and drove off.
“Nice one, Ginny,” said Harry. “Better not tell your dad, though. He’ll probably class it as Muggle baiting.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Ginny. “There was enough of that going on at the Quidditch World Cup. Do you remember that poor campsite manager? Dad didn’t complain then.”
“He had too much to think about,” said George. “Remember running through that forest with me and Fred, Ginny? I don’t think we’d ever been so scared.”
“Let’s go in,” said Hermione stridently.
Godric, thought George, are they ever going to let me talk about him?
There was a purple carpet laid out over the grass. Ginny took Harry’s proffered arm and tripped in, almost girlishly, though the mistletoe decked entrance. George took Hermione’s arm, too and together they entered the marquee.
Hermione gasped as they walked into the main area. The sides of the marquee looked as if they were a moving waterfall. Huge swathes of white, silver and purple cascaded onto the floor which was a polished dark blue. George felt as if he were walking into the middle of a beautiful wintry ocean scene. The roof, he was delighted to see, was rather like the Hogwarts enchanted sky. He could see stars sparkling and a crescent moon shedding light all around.
Ginny found their table which seated eight. It was covered in a pure snow white cloth that seemed iridescent. There were purple petals scattered across the place settings.
“Who else is sitting with us, Ginny?” asked George.
“Some of my team mates,” she replied, “Melody Harper and Jemima Hughes.”
“What do they play again?” asked George.
“They’re Beaters, George,” she said in exasperation thinking that if he ever came to watch her he’d know that by now. “Just like you and ...”
“Like me and Fred,” finished George. “Brilliant, I can give them some tips.” He paused and looked at the three of them who were all looking at him. “One more thing,” he said, “can you all stop freezing up at the mention of Fred’s name? I can take it these days. You don’t have to keep changing the subject.”
Harry smiled across at him. “Great to have you back, George. I’m going to get some drinks in. I think Fred would like us to raise a glass to him.”
As the girls sat down, George heard a loud, slightly braying voice, coming from the table behind them. He turned to see the handsome and familiar face of Roger Davies.
“Who does he play for, Ginny? I never thought he was much good.”
She giggled. “Chudley Cannons, of course. But don’t mention seeing him to Ron. According to him, Davies is responsible for their miserable start to the season.”
“They always have a miserable start,” said George.
“And a miserable middle followed by a truly depressing end,” agreed Ginny.
“He’s carrying a corsage for his date. I wonder who she is?” said Hermione inquisitively.
“Hey,” said Harry loudly, “Look what the kneazle dragged in.”
“Charming, Harry,” said a female voice.
At the sound of the voice, George turned round and gasped. There with Harry, wearing the most stunning gold dress was his former classmate, Angelina Johnson.
After stuttering a greeting to her, George quickly excused himself and headed for the temporary bathrooms.
“Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!” he muttered to himself as he hit his head against a mirror. “How, in the name of Godric, am I supposed to see this party through with Angelina sitting at the next table with that utter prat, Davies?”
He thought back to the last time he’d seen her “ Fred’s funeral. She’d come back to The Burrow and they’d talked, briefly but he couldn’t remember what about. George had been in shock for a long time after the Battle of Hogwarts. The mention of Fred’s name had caused so much pain that he’d shut himself off from everyone and kept to his room. Angelina, he remembered, had come round a few times to see him, but he’d never come out of his room. He couldn’t bear to talk about Fred, then; whereas now he was starting to realise the only way of keeping Fred alive was by his memories.
The door opened. It was Harry.
“George, are you okay?”
“Angelina,” he muttered. “Bit of a shock seeing her like that. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.”
Harry looked at George’s reflection in the mirror, at the white face staring back at him. White like Fred’s had been when he’d died. Hermione always used to say that he and Ron couldn’t read people at all but even he knew that George’s reaction was not just about Fred.
“You like her, don’t you?” he said curiously.
“Shut up!” said George fiercely.
Harry jerked back as if he’d been hexed. “Calm down, George. It’s okay to like someone you know.”
“You don’t understand, Harry. I can’t like Angelina, she’s Fred’s ex. It’s...it’s...wrong!”
“One date, George,” said Harry. “They had one date six years ago. That hardly qualifies her as an ex.” He paused. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, are worried about what others will say. Besides, you’ll be doing her a favour. Davies is currently boring her to tears. She keeps looking over to Ginny and mouthing help.”
George took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m calm now. Lead the way, oh heir of Slytherin,” he said and started laughing as he remembered the nick-name Fred had coined for Harry.
Harry was right. Angelina was looking incredibly bored sitting listening to Davies’ stories. George looked across at her and smiled. She smiled back and he caught a flash of that slightly crooked tooth that used to drive him crazy. Roger, noticing Angelina’s distraction, promptly asked her to dance and whisked her off.
“Hermione, come and dance,” said George immediately. Hermione stopped her conversation with one of the Beaters (George never found out which one was which) and looked up at him. George saw Ginny nudge her and tilt her head in the direction Roger and Angelina had taken. Obediently, Hermione stood up and accepted his hand.
“George Weasley,” declared Hermione, five minutes later. “You have hidden depths. I didn’t realise you were such a good dancer.”
“Ginny used to make me practise with her. It’s hard to say no to my sister when she’s determined,” he replied.
“I wish she’d made Ron practise,” complained Hermione. “Every time I go dancing with him I end up using all my supply of Murtlap for my feet. It’s almost as bad as being Splinched!”
George let her moans and groans about Ron wash over him whilst he scanned the dance floor. He could see a flash of gold as Roger twirled her around.
Damn, he thought, Davies is a bloody good dancer.
He carefully shimmied Hermione over to the right so he could catch Angelina’s eye. He caught a look of exasperation on her face as she was spun round again and he smirked.
“Hey, Hermione,” he whispered. “Will you do me a favour and dance with Davies, for a while?”
Hermione looked from George to Angelina and giggled. “She’s really not enjoying herself, is she? I guess I can put up with it for one dance, but you must rescue me, George, you promise?”
He assented but she doubted he was listening. Oh, well, she thought, I can always pretend I’ve hurt my ankle.
In a sudden, rather suave, movement, George positioned himself right in Angelina’s path as Roger released her from a complicated twist. She landed in his arms and Hermione, living up to her side of the bargain, almost threw herself at the waiting Davies.
“George,” said Angelina in delight, “how wonderful to see you. Roger, you don’t mind if I dance with George, do you? It’s been...um...energetic.”
Roger started to scowl but then looked at Hermione who was looking rather pretty tonight and, from what he’d heard, was doing very well at the Ministry these days.
George winked at Hermione and whispered a thank you to her then waltzed Angelina over to the other side of the floor.
“Thank you, George,” she whispered in his ear. “Roger’s ...um...style is very tiring.”
“Happy to be of assistance, Miss Johnson,” he said in a mock formal manner.
Angelina tipped back her head and laughed. It was a gesture he remembered from school. Her gold dress, he noticed, glimmered under the lights. It clung to her curves in a demure, yet slightly suggestive way. George had never seen her look more glorious, yet somehow he thought he preferred the scowling, sweaty Quidditch Captain who’d made his and Fred’s’ lives a misery when Umbridge had banned them from the team.
“You dance divinely, Mr Weasley,” she said.
“You look divine, Miss Johnson,” he said appreciatively.
She gave him a coy look from beneath her lashes but was happy to receive the compliment. This was the George she remembered from school.
George began to laugh and he launched into a tango, clearing the floor around him.
“You’re looking very smart, tonight, Mr Weasley,” said Angelina. “New robes?”
“New robes, new shirt, new shoes, Miss Johnson,” he replied. “And you?”
“My grandmother’s dress,” she replied. “She wore it when...” She stopped and shook her head.
“When what?” said George, intrigued now.
“When she had a special event to go to,” said Angelina hurriedly with the air of one not quite telling the truth.
Another song came on. Roger twitched his head in annoyance at Angelina but she showed no sign of wishing to leave so George carried on dancing with her.
“Your partner wants you back, Miss Johnson,” George said reluctantly.
“Miss Johnson has no wish to leave,” she whispered.
George grinned down at her. “Why did you come with him, Angelina?”
She tilted her head onto one side and considered carefully.
“For the simple reason that he asked me and I’ve spent all season out injured and not had any fun at all,” she replied.
“Merlin, I’m out of touch!” exclaimed George. “I didn’t realise you were injured.”
“My old shoulder injury,” she said and sighed. “It was exacerbated at the Battle when I was fighting Macnair. Of course, if it hadn’t been for Hagrid it would have been a lot worse...” Her voice trailed off. George had learnt to read people very well and knew she was thinking about Fred.
“It’s okay, you know,” he said quickly, “you can mention him. I don’t shut myself in my room anymore.”
She smiled sadly. “I miss him, you know and I miss you, George. You’ve shut yourself away for far too long and we three were always good friends.
A slower song came on, George slightly slackened his hold on her in case she wanted to leave but she held on to him. He could see her face, her lips turned up to his and he ached to kiss her. Slowly, he bent his head down, closed his eyes and began to kiss her.
“MY ROBES!” yelled a voice from behind him. A hand yanked him away from Angelina. “Vhy do you haf my robes?”
George gulped, for there in front of him was the brooding and very angry looking figure of International Quidditch Legend, Victor Krum.
“I bought these robes only last veek,” he cried. “Vot, in the name of Gottfried, are you doing in them?”
“I...I...I bought them today,” stuttered George, “from Madam Malkin. She had them in the back and said they’d been forgotten.”
“Forget about these,” said Krum incredulously. “These robes are the finest money can buy and I’m stuck in my brother’s second best.”
George eyed Krum’s robes. His brother was obviously shorter and fatter as Victor looked distinctly ropey in his borrowed robes.
“You vill hand over my robes, NOW!” barked Krum.
“Victor!” shouted a most welcome voice. “How lovely to see you, here.”
“Herm-own-ninny,” said Krum, turning a funny shade of pink. George thought he looked rather like a radish and smothered a grin.
Hermione looked across at Krum holding George by his lapels and frowned slightly. Catching her expression, Krum quickly let go.
“There must have been a mix-up,” said George apologetically. “Madam Malkin clearly thought you didn’t want them any more so sold them to me.”
Krum grunted. “I still vant my robes.”
“Well, how about I send them to you tomorrow?” suggested George. He could see a crowd gathered around them now and that blasted Roger Davies was standing next to Angelina, laughing at his expense.
“NO!” said Krum. “I vant my robes NOW!”
“Well, what am I going to wear?”
“Zat is not my concern,” growled Krum.
“Look, Krum, I’m not going to waltz round naked. You have robes. I have robes. We both paid for these robes so let me wear them for now and I’ll owl them to you tomorrow,” he said reasonably.
“NO!” said Krum. He grabbed at George again but George was too quick and swung round. Krum grabbed at the flowing green velvet and pulled as George spun in the other direction. There was a rip and suddenly George was standing in torn robes in the middle of the floor.
“Vell, I don’t vant them now,” said Krum and he stalked off, looking even moodier than before. George could see the crowd pointing at the huge rip down one side and was acutely aware that despite wearing new robes, a new shirt and new shoes he was wearing old and embarrassing underpants “ a joke pair with Nifflers printed on them that Fred had given him years ago.
With as much dignity as he could muster, George bowed slightly to the assembled masses and then walked out of the marquee. He was surprised to find it had been snowing whilst he’d been inside. There was a thin smattering of snow on the grass. He found a bench in the park and lay down on it, groaning.
This evening could not possibly get any worse, he thought. He brought out his wand to mend his robes then stopped as he was hit in the face with a snowball.
“Gotcha, Weasley!” yelled Angelina as she ran across the grass. She was holding her shoes in one hand and gathering up more snow in the other.
George quickly scooped up a handful of snow and threw it back at her. She dodged but slipped on the grass. He leapt off the bench and ran over to her.
“Godric, Angelina!” he cried. “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”
“Oh, oh oh,” she moaned.
He bent over her, his face full of remorse and tried to pull her up. Angelina quickly grabbed his lapels in a gesture reminiscent of Krum, but without the outrage, and pulled him onto the ground.
“Gotcha again, Weasley!” she said, giggling.
He lay on the ground with her. She was warm to the touch and laughing down at him. Then, without speaking, she moved her lips down to his and began, very slowly, to kiss him.
He felt as if he were drowning; as if his whole life had been worthless until that moment.
“Angelina,” he whispered.
She pulled back slightly. “I’ve been waiting six years to do that,” she said. “The last time I tried, you ran off.”
He jerked his eyes open. “You knew it was me?” he said incredulously.
She grinned at him. “Of course I knew it was you, George. Since that first day on the Hogwarts Express I knew which twin was which. You two could never fool me.”
“I...I...had no idea,” he said, astounded. “I thought you were kissing Fred. You were his date. His girlfriend.”
She lay back on the ground. “Only because he asked me first. Look, Fred was amazing, George. He was funny, brave, and reckless and I adored him. But you,” she paused, and then said, “you were always the one I liked just that little bit more.”
He propped himself up onto his elbow and looked at her lying on the grass. Her dress hitched up just above her knees and her hair unkempt. Glory she was beautiful, he thought and he began to kiss her luxuriating in the intoxicating scent of her skin and the softness of her lips.
Thank you, Grandma, thought Angelina. Thank you for giving me the dress you wore when you first kissed Granddad.