Shephard's Pie, a ficlet by yellownotepaper

Category: Harry Potter

Rating: PG

Summary: Pointless, plot-less, and fluffy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its character's.

Forward: I've gotten a lot of requests to do a sequel to this story, so I thought 'what the heck?'. So…here you go. Just as bad as the first. But a lot more drabble. You might notice that my writing style got a bit more sophisticated, but I couldn't help it. More Beatles lyrics! Yay!


Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
Tomorrow I'll miss,
Remember I'll always be true,
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home every day,
And I'll send all my loving to you


"George! Don't dawdle, darling, we'll be late!"

"Oh, shove it," George muttered, searching the floor frantically for his bowtie. "I'm bloody coming, alright? Merlin…" He let out a long breath, temporarily abandoning his search. He knew that his mother would respond like this.

It was only five days – five bloody days – after Alicia had unknowingly let on that she was pregnant with his child. And here he was.

Getting married.

Whether it was against his will or not, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. He agreed with his mother that Alicia couldn't raise a child on her own, and he would never dream of abandoning his child. He just wasn't sure that he was ready to be married.

Oh well. Too late now.

"There you are, little bugger," George breathed, spotting the silky new black bowtie lying innocently on his dresser. "Yes, Mum, I'm coming!"

After hurriedly grabbing the bowtie and rushing down the rickety stairs, he made it into the kitchen, panting slightly. "Damn…third…floor…" he muttered under his breath, tying the alleged bowtie around his neck much too tightly in his nervousness. "I'm working up a sweat already, and all I've done is come down the stairs…"

"I'm sure all of that dessert you ate last night didn't help," said a sarcastic voice from behind him.

George whipped around and nearly came nose to nose with Ginny, all dolled up for his wedding in a periwinkle gown and matching silk heels. He put a hand to his heart in false surprise. "Darling sister, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Ginny rolled her eyes and stalked past George, who was grinning. "You'd think you would be a little more mature considering that this is your wedding day?" Ginny quipped, whipping around to face him again.

George's grin slid off his face, his freckles standing out vibrantly on his paling face. She grinned, a surprising Malfoy-like malicious glint in her eyes.

"I see I've touched a soft spot," she said, smirking. "Nervous?"

"Shut your face," George mumbled, his ears turning red. Evil bint. Ginny's grin merely widened as she strolled around the kitchen for her coat. "Grab your coat, or you'll miss your own wedding."

George gulped. He wasn't sure that he would mind.


George pulled nervously on his bowtie, his sleeves rough and new against his skin. His rapidly fast heart beat was pulsing through his veins, so loud that he was sure the rest of the congregation could hear it. He wrung his hands together, sweaty and shaking, taking deep breaths to steady his quickened breath.

"You okay?" said Fred in a low voice from next to him. George took another deep breath and nodded. He didn't think he could speak even if he wanted; his tongue felt heavy and useless in his mouth. Sweat pooled on the base of his neck and under his arms, and he took another shuddering breath, praying to god that he wouldn't throw up.

Almost as soon as this thought processed in his mind, loud organ music filled the room. George jumped and glanced frantically around the room, until he realized that it was the processional, the wedding march.

'This is it,' he thought to himself, letting his hands fall to his sides. 'This was a bad idea, a terrible idea, why did I agree to…'

But then the doors creaked open, and George lost all coherent thought as well as speech.

Alicia stood before him, not twenty feet away, a vision in white and gold. Her dress was a traditional white, with sheer gold flowers emblazoned on the bodice. The tell-tale bump on her stomach was gone, and he could only assume that she was wearing a corset to press it down. Her hair, normally stick straight, was lightly curled and shiny, pinned back with gold butterfly clips. But it was her smile that rendered him speechless. A soft, shy smile that made him want to ravish her right then and there.

He felt all doubts vanish from his mind.

"George," Fred muttered, and George realized that his mouth was gaping wide open. George felt himself blush and closed his mouth, though he could not stop the smile that curved his lips at the sight of his blushing bride.

The next moment, she was beside him, and her soft, small hand was curled up in his own, bringing with it the lovely smell of her lavender shampoo. The ceremony went by fairly quickly for George; one moment Alicia had just come down the aisle, and the next he was placing a ring on her finger and being asked to repeat the vows by the minister.

"Do you, Alicia Margaret Spinnet, take George Fabian Weasley, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"I do," said Alicia, her voice sweet and ringing throughout the room. She turned her golden brown eyes to him, and he gulped as the minister spoke.

"Do you, George Fabian Weasley, take Alicia Margaret Spinnet, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?" said the Minister once more in a droning monotone.

"I – I do," George croaked, his voice cracking slightly. In the front row, he heard a loud sniff from his mother. Alicia gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The minister cleared his throat. "I now pronounce you man and wife," he said.

Something seemed to come over George just then, as if those words had broken the last thread of self restraint that he possessed. With a soft, "Finally," he grabbed Alicia and kissed her, hard and frantic at first but soon melting into a passionate embrace. After they broke apart, both red faced and grinning like lunatics, George was vaguely aware of a loud applause coming from the audience.

"Oh, George!" cried Mrs. Weasley, leaping out of her seat and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so – happy!" she sobbed hysterically into his shoulder, the tears fast streaking the fabric of his tux.

"Mum," George gasped. "I – can't – breathe –"

His mother stepped away slightly, her face red and damp with tears. His father came over and put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him instead, latching onto his arm like a child and crying desperately from bloodshot eyes. George locked eyes with his father, who was staring at him with strangely watery eyes.

"I'm very happy for you, son," said Arthur Weasley in a gruff voice, which George knew meant that he was holding back tears himself. "Very, very proud…" He gave him a short hug, and then retreated away from him mumbling something about having to go to the bathroom.

Congratulations streamed to George from all corners of the room, even from Alicia's side of the family, and he soon lost track of Alicia's whereabouts. His face was sore from smiling, and there wasn't a man in the room who was beaming as brightly as George Weasley.

After about ten minutes, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Fred, smiling nearly as widely as he was, arm in arm with Angelina. "Congratulations, little bro," Fred joked, referring to his 2 minute seniority.

"Thanks, old man," George said, laughing and giving his twin a hug. "And might I say you look lovely, Angelina," he added, waggling his eyebrows. Angelina laughed, and Fred made a threatening gesture with his free hand.

"Careful, brother, or I'll tell Alicia."

George laughed again, and Fred smiled. "You're expected outside."

"Am I?" said George, amused.

"Your limo, dummy," said Angelina, rolling her eyes and smiling at him.

"Now dear," said Fred in a mock-hushed voice. "Don't make fun of the boy. Just because he's mentally ill – ow!"

George chuckled, shaking out his wrist from the soft punch he had just delivered into Fred's arm. "If that hurt, you're an even bigger wimp than I thought."

Fred glared at him. "Come on, dear, let's go to the reception." He turned his back to George and began leading Angelina back into the throng of people. However, as he pulled Angelina away, he threw George an unexpected grin, the familiar glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. George felt a sudden feeling of dread; he knew that look. He and Fred had shared it many times before, when they were up to something.

"Hey, Fred –" George called, panicking, but Fred had already walked away, swallowed up by the din of the cathedral. George let out a soft curse, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked out the doors leading to the limo he had paid to drive himself and Alicia to the reception.

As soon as he had stepped over the threshold that separated the church from the outside, he caught a whiff of lavender shampoo. He looked to his left, and spotted a familiar figure, leaning on the balcony looking wistful and alone.

"Hey," George said soft and low, wrapping his arms around her and placing a gentle kiss on her neck. Alicia jumped slightly out of surprise, and then promptly relaxed and leaned into him. "I was wondering when you'd be out."

"Fred only just told me that the limo had arrived," said George, turning her around to kiss her properly.

"Mmm," Alicia mumbled and pulled him closer. Her breasts, full and soft, were pulled flush against his chest. George closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hot, stiff sensation that he was experiencing in his groin.

"We – um – should probably go," he stammered, pulling away. Alicia's eyelids were half closed in sleepy pleasure, and it was all George could do but not rip her dress off and take her right there on the church steps.

"You're probably right," Alicia said, taking his hand and leading him down the stairs. "We don't want to be late to the reception."

George coughed loudly. "Yes, um, the reception," he said quickly, his voice expressing some of the nervousness he was feeling. He wasn't sure what Fred was planning, but he was sure that it wasn't good.


A:N:// There you go, people. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I didn't. Haha. Only kidding. Actually, I like the writing style on this one more that the previous, even though nothing much happens. It's also a bit longer, which I like. I like long drabbly things, as you've probably noticed from some of my other stories, if you've read them. (Or if you're reading this author's note, haha) 'Bittersweet' is always going to take forever to update because it's such a drabble fic. And after I write the first draft, I always end up going back and changing everything anyway, 'cause that's just how I work. Crazy.

Okay, so I decided to make this a three-shot, because I like the around-five-page-lengths of the chapter, and three is a nice number to close it out on. One or three for short fics seems best to me; I dunno, two feels unfinished. Even though I thought I was already rid of this story…

Gosh. Sorry about the rambling.

Tell me what you think, if I should continue, if I should go to tell, w/e. Flames are welcome.