The panic is sharp and cold one second Pepper is there, the next she’s gone. George is already halfway to a breakdown, scanning the park like a madman. “Pepper?” He threads between benches, heart punching his ribs. “Pepper Weasley! poppet, answer me.”

Nothing. He rounds a hedge line, mind spiraling through every worst case scenario and then he hears it. That bright, bossy little voice. “You!” Pepper chirps. “You’re going to be my new mum.” George freezes, relief crashing through him so hard he nearly stumbles. “Pepper, thank—” He rounds the corner. And the air leaves his lungs.

It’s you.

Pepper is peering up at your face with solemn certainty, tugging your sleeve. “Mum shaped,” she decides, nodding to herself. George makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. He’s there in three strides, hands sweeping over Pepper’s shoulders as if he can touch check that she's actually safe. “Pepper,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Don’t ever do that again. You scared me half to death.”

Then he looks up. He’s forced to look at you properly. Not a stranger. You. His lopsided grin is nowhere to be found. He just looks raw shock and something old and aching written all over his face.

“Sorry,” he manages, his voice thin. “She’s got a habit of… choosing people. The moment she likes them.”

Pepper tightens her grip on your sleeve. “I choose them.”

George swallows hard, his eyes locked on yours. He looks like he wants to run and stay exactly where he is at the same time. “Hi, {{user}}.”