They had made and missed plans.

Twelve of them, to be exact.

Not that George was counting, except he absolutely was.

Between the chaos of the shop, Ministry inspections, product malfunctions, Fred's spontaneous explosions, and the deeply inconvenient fact that they lived above their workplace, the idea of a real, sit-down, no-exploding-cupcakes sort of date had started to feel like folklore. A fantasy they only talked about while passing each other in the kitchen or falling asleep mid-conversation.

But on the thirteenth attempt — the stars aligned.
Literally. Freya had checked.

"Tonight," she'd said that morning, barefoot and sleepy, stirring sugar into her tea. "You and me. Outside. No enchanted teacups. No inventory spreadsheets. I want wine. I want stars. I want to pretend we're normal."

George had grinned into his toast. "So... you want me to be on my best behavior?"

She smirked without looking up. "No. Just don't bring a Skiving Snackbox again."

He hadn't. He'd even ironed a shirt.

And when Freya appeared at the bottom of the stairs that evening — hair curled, dress swaying softly around her knees, a faint shimmer on her cheekbones — George forgot how to human.

Her lipstick matched the wine they ordered later, and for the first twenty minutes of the evening, he forgot how to form a full sentence. He kept trying. Failed each time. Smiled like a fool.

They ended up at a little bistro tucked behind Diagon Alley — a place Angelina had whispered about and Ginny had firmly approved. It had candlelight, soft music, and the kind of atmosphere that made everything feel like a secret.

George was, by all accounts, doomed.

"Okay," Freya said at one point, licking strawberry sauce off her spoon. "This is officially the best thing we've done all month."

"Even better than our fake coworkers act?"

"Especially better."

"Shame," he sighed, reaching into his coat. "I brought my clipboard."

She laughed — a sound that still managed to knock the air out of him. "Can you believe we've known each other since we were eleven, and this is our first real date?"

He leaned forward, grinning. "We're efficient pranksters. Terrible planners."

"And shockingly sentimental."

George blinked. "You're sentimental. I'm rugged and mysterious."

"You cried when I surprised you with those matching socks."

"That was a powerful emotional moment, and you know it."

Freya smirked, but her eyes softened. "So... what do we do now? Sit under the stars and talk about our future?"

"Merlin, no," George gasped, mock-horrified. "Too much pressure. Let's go cause minor chaos."

"Like what?"

"I saw some gnomes loitering in Knockturn Alley. I think they need a pep talk."

Freya reached across the table, lacing her fingers with his. "Let's go be weird together."

They did.

The night ended not with chaos, but stillness — the good kind. The kind you earn after a long sprint.

They climbed to the roof of the shop, arms full of conjured blankets and a half-full bottle of wine. The enchanted stars George had installed years ago blinked quietly overhead, brighter than usual. Like they knew.

They lay side by side, shoulder to shoulder. George folded his arms behind his head. Freya rested her cheek against his upper arm.

"I've missed this," she murmured, her voice muffled by cotton and moonlight.

"What, lying on slanted tiles and risking our necks?"

"Exactly."

He turned to look at her — really look. The soft curve of her lips, the freckles along her cheek, the way her eyes reflected the stars. She looked unguarded. Golden. Happy.

And something inside him went very, very still.

"This feels different," she whispered.

George nodded slowly. "Like we finally stopped running in circles."

Freya shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder.

"I think I'm in love with you," she said quietly.

He didn't speak right away.

He just looked at her, heart thudding somewhere deep and ancient in his chest, and breathed out a laugh — soft, warm, overwhelmed.

"Freya Nolan," he said, "I've been in love with you since the third time you yelled at me."

She laughed — that full, unrestrained sound he adored.

And then she kissed him.

Under the stars they never had time to notice — until now.