George had survived many things in life:
Explosions.
Pranks gone wrong.
Dragons (kind of).
And a war.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for an afternoon in the Nolan backyard with Freya's dad.

It started with a wrench.

"Hold that," Marcus Nolan grunted, gesturing toward a rusted pipe beneath the rainwater barrel. His voice was low, clipped—more instruction than invitation.

George obeyed instantly, clutching the pipe like it might explode (which, in fairness, wasn't outside the realm of possibility given the state of the barrel).

They'd already spent the better part of an hour fixing a sagging fence post, hammering stakes into clay-like earth while debating whether a thunderstorm was coming. George had offered—three separate times—to use magic to speed things up.

Each time, Marcus had responded with a pointed look that said we do things properly around here, son, without saying a single word.

Now, elbow-deep in mismatched garden tools and rain barrel debris, they worked in silence. The kind of silence that wasn't awkward, exactly—but certainly wasn't relaxed. George's nerves crackled beneath the surface.

He wanted to do this right.

Not just the proposal. Not just the ring.

All of it.

He didn't want to marry Freya.

He wanted to be worthy of her.

So far, he'd stepped in rabbit dung twice, snapped a perfectly innocent spanner in half, and misjudged the hose pressure badly enough to soak them both.

Marcus hadn't said much—beyond the occasional grunt and an unimpressed "hmm."

Until now.

"Freya tells me you're the funny one."

George flinched slightly, caught off-guard. "Er—sometimes. Less so when I'm elbow-deep in mud."

Marcus passed him a bolt. "You make her laugh."

George looked up.

Marcus's eyes met his. Calm. Unreadable. Not hostile—just measuring.

"I try," George said honestly.

Marcus turned back to the pipe, tightening a connector with careful, practiced hands. "She needs that. Always been the clever one, my Freya. Too clever, some days. Gets stuck in her own head. Thinks too much. She needs someone who pulls her back down."

George swallowed, nodding once. "I love her," he said, voice low and certain. "Fully. Stupidly. Like—I'd carry her over a minefield if she asked, though I'd probably trip and blow us both up on the first step."

Marcus snorted. A real sound. Almost amused. "That's about what I figured."

They returned to the task in a comfortable quiet. The pipe creaked into place with a groan, and George handed Marcus the last screw.

And then—

With the same casual tone someone might use to mention the weather—

"You've got my permission."

George blinked.

Marcus kept working. "Not that you needed it. But you've got it."

George looked up sharply.

Marcus stood, brushing off his trousers with a grunt. "And my blessing. For what it's worth."

George opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

So he nodded instead.

Marcus held out a hand.

George took it. Rough, calloused grip. Warm.

It wasn't long. Wasn't overly firm.

But then Marcus clapped a hand to his shoulder—just once—and muttered, "Welcome to the family, son."

It nearly knocked George over.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Later that night, after dinner and tea and a brief argument about whether George should be allowed near any more gardening equipment, Freya found him sitting on the back porch.

He was barefoot, arms resting on his knees, eyes tilted up toward the stars.

"You okay?" she asked, settling beside him, a little curl of hair falling into her face.

He nodded slowly. "Your dad called me son."

She smiled softly. "He likes you."

"He thinks I'm clumsy and ridiculous."

"That means he loves you."

George was quiet for a long moment, eyes still on the sky. Then—

"Would you still marry me if I accidentally destroyed the entire fence tomorrow?"

Freya grinned. "I'd help you do it faster."

He leaned in and kissed her temple—soft, steady.

No theatrics.

No pranks.

Just warmth.

And in the stillness of the Nolan backyard, surrounded by fireflies, flowers, and at least one broken spanner—

George Weasley, for the first time, truly felt like he belonged.