Not Quite Paradise

Not Quite Paradise

"I close my eyes,
And there in the shadows I see your light.
You come to me out of my dreams
Across the night."

--Lara Fabian, "For Always," A.I. Artificial Intelligence Soundtrack

Chapter Eight
Easier Not Knowing

George and I woke up very late the next morning, at the exact same moment, and in each other's arms. He smiled at me briefly, then tried to go back to sleep, but I shook him awake again once I realized how late we were.

"Doesn't matter. It's just my family," he muttered against my shoulder. I laughed and poked him in the ribs until he opened his eyes.

"Just your family? Just your family who will think ill of me if you're late for your own party," I replied, looking at him and smiling. I brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that he would get it cut, and I rested back against his arm.

"They won't think ill of you. You're practically part of the family anyway." He closed his eyes again, but I didn't let him go back to sleep. Reluctantly, we rose and, after preparing a quick breakfast, George warned me that everyone would know exactly why we were late.

"Our first public appearance and we're late," George snickered into his orange juice from my bathroom door.

"Public appearance?" I said through a mouthful of toothpaste. I spat into the sink.

"Yes... I'm afraid my brothers' wives are going to have a field day with you," George smirked. He downed the rest of his drink and leaned against the doorframe.

"They won't... be too bad... will they?" George just laughed as he turned and walked back into my kitchen.

Upon arrival (George and I were most certainly the last ones), I encountered more Weasleys in one place then ever before. It was easy to tell the spouses from the blood Weasleys by their hair. The main gathering was in the backyard, where tents were set up and children were racing after each other on broomsticks that only flew a few feet off the ground.

Eight-year-old PJ Weasley was sitting by himself under a big maple tree, parchment spread all around him. There were quills and pink ink everywhere. He didn't look as though he was particularly working very hard, as he had more ink on his fingers and face than he did on the parchment. PJ folded a section of the parchment in half and placed it on top of his head. I laughed into my hand despite myself (I imagined I would make an awful mother), and Penelope, her mother radar most likely sounding, swiftly crossed the backyard to scold her son.

"So many people..." I murmured. Shy Anya was creeping up on me again. Already I could pick out Fred (who was rarely more than a foot away from Angelina at any given time), Charlie (who was carrying his daughter, Elizabeth, on his shoulders), and Bill, who was strangely without his wife, Fleur.

Bill was leaning casually against the gazebo rail, taking a healthy swig from a bottle of butterbeer. My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, for Bill had never been much of a drinker, let alone at family parties. I nudged George, and he followed my gaze. George winced a little and shook his head.

"He and Fleur have been having... problems," he explained. We intermingled with other guests. George got more than a few nudges and winks, while I was about up to my nose in knowing looks.

Our arrival wasn't as quiet as I would have liked, but I really hadn't expected it to be, as George was an honored guest. Fred and Angelina had staked out a shaded area in the backyard and looked caught up in such a romantic moment that everyone left them well enough alone. Around noon, Charlie and Bill started up a game of Quidditch over at one end of the backyard while most of the wives grouped together under the shade of the porch.

"I'm going to join that Quidditch game... come with me, love?" George asked. I shook my head slowly and looked over at the wives, most of whom I knew.

"I think I'll go relax out of the sun for a little while. But I'll watch." He smiled and nodded. After a glance around, we kissed and parted.

I inconspicuously took a seat between Liz and a nervous looking Ginny, who was tapping her long fingernails on a napkin and chewing her lower lip. Liz smiled at me warmly, but Ginny didn't even notice my presence.

Penny, Percy's wife, was talking quickly, a sure sign that she was upset. Her voice rose as she spoke. "When two people are married, it is forever. Not until they get into little spats and disagree on - what was it - whether or not to go to a party?" I sat back and blended into the background, listening half-heartedly to Penny's rant on marriage, while looking over at the makeshift Quidditch pitch. Bill was at Keeper, with the twins in the Beater positions. Charlie was playing, too, as a Chaser, and Arthur was far above the pitch, looking down for the Snitch.

I smirked; Arthur would never be too old to do anything.

"--Don't you think, Anya?" jarred me back to the conversation. But this time it was a slightly less worried Ginny who was speaking.

"Huh? Think what? I'm sorry; I was watching..." I said softly, and then trailed off as the smiles around the table broadened. I sunk in my seat as they nodded knowingly at each other. Apparently, good news traveled faster than Apparition.

Ginny had apparently given up on asking me whatever she was going to ask me when she leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "So how did it happen?"

"And when?" Liz asked eagerly.

"And for how long?" Angelina (who I hadn't even seen join us) put in, sending everyone into gales of laughter. I flushed pink. Well, that certainly was none of their business, I thought, suppressing a yawn. We had been up late, hadn't we? I sputtered, not coming up with an intelligible, yet polite enough word to express my distaste at the questions.

"Well, Fred says--" Angelina began. I bent my head and hid my face with my hair. It really wasn't an appropriate question to ask nor was it Angelina's business to tell them anything of our private affairs. As usual, I said nothing. Let them have their fun. I listened to them speculate for a little while, Penny looking extremely ruffled that her marriage rant had been interrupted and Ginny's worry mounting once more.

I excused myself after a little while, resolving to take a quick walk in the forest behind the Burrow. George was still quite involved in the Quidditch game and was trying everything he could to knock his twin off his broom. Boys.

I started into the quiet forest, just barely alive with the sounds of singing wildlife. Far away, I heard an Augurey cry and wondered if it was the same little friend I'd encountered not so long ago. I walked slowly along, listening to the sounds of the forest; the party din grew quieter with distance.

However, the cheerful noise did not give way to silence. Instead, its absence only revealed arguing voices.

"--But you promised a dozen times that you would be here with me," a Weasley voice, not yet identifiable, cut through the forest. I paused behind a tree, peeking into the clearing ahead. A desperate Ron was standing face-to-face with an annoyed Hermione.

"And I also have a responsibility to my patients, Ron, and you know they're very important to me," Hermione replied calmly, but not without a hint of frustration. Both of their robes were ruffled, not to mention their hair, so it was easy to tell that they hadn't wandered into the forest to argue.

"Aren't I important to you, too, love?" Ron asked. Hermione's features softened and she reached up to touch Ron's cheek.

"You are important to me, Ron, but so is my work. I'll see you at home, honey. I promise I'll be at the next Weasley function." She leaned forward and kissed him before he could protest, and then Apparated away with a pop.

"As long as she's happy..." Ron said lamely to the spot where she had just been. He dropped his chin and shuffled out of the clearing, back towards the party. I crept into the clearing after him and frowned. If those two didn't learn how to prioritize and talk about what's going on rather than using cheap guilt trips and last minute excuses, they'd have some real problems down the road. But on the outside, to the rest of the world, they'd seemed so happy and perfect and...

Well, facades could be misleading. I chastised myself for listening in on a private conversation and started back. My "short" walk had taken longer than expected and I didn't fancy being pegged as antisocial.

I turned to head back when I saw his face.

He was too quick for me to get away and all of a sudden, I found my back against a tree and my windpipe getting crushed by a strong forearm. My fingers reached up to claw at him, but he leaned close to my face and demanded, "Quiet."

"Snape," I hissed back, but only because that's all the oxygen I had to spare. I blanched at his disgusting breath and tried hard to keep myself under control. Oh, Merlin, if I could only call out for help...

"So you think you're too good for me, do you, little miss Anya?" he hissed in my ear. I tried to kick him, but he had his entire body pressed up against mine. My eyes filled with desperate tears. "Aw, is the poor little flower going to cry? You know, the blonde one cried, too."

My world stopped. In that moment, the only things relevant were Snape and the words he'd just spoken. The blonde one... Shelly... Rochelle... Michelle... something wrong with the name... the note... Rochelle... not Michelle...

"Yes..." Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. I saw more of his father in him now than ever. "Yes, you understand me. You understand the power I have over you, over your life..." His arm loosened a little and I sucked in a breath.

"Shelly," I sobbed, gasping for air. The image of her face filled my mind and I found a rage within myself I never thought possible. It was a rage that, alone, could not save my life. Snape laughed in my face, not daunted by my attempt at escape.

"I am getting more and more powerful within the organization... I daresay I'll be part of the Cabal before the year is out," Snape continued, a maniacal grin across his face. I'd never seen anyone more excited in my life. "However, my slip of the tongue in Knockturn Alley - which you shall never enter again, little girl - prevents my superiors from resting peacefully at night. So I am afraid this is the end for you." The world around me tilted crazily, and my chest burned, spots forming in front of my eyes.

"GET OFF HER!" a voice roared and I found my windpipe clear again. I fell to my hands and knees, gratefully sucking in mouthful after mouthful of blessed air. I cringed back against the tree, my mind still alarmed and ready for another attack. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision, and saw Snape sitting awkwardly up against a tree on the other side of the clearing. His eyes were closed and a thick line of blood trailed from his temple across his face and over his eye.

I lay there for a few more moments, clinging to the grass. Shelly, Shelly, I'm so sorry, I moaned inwardly. I never should have believed that you would kill yourself. I miss you so much. I struggled hard against the tears - I'd already done my share of grieving - when I saw two other figures enter the forest.

I scrambled up against the tree, panting hard. I didn't have any fight left in me...

"Is that... Anya?" the first figure came into view, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Harry Potter. I started across the clearing at him, but walking proved too rigorous of an experience and I fell again. The next things I felt were Harry's hands on my shoulders, and his voice telling me to breathe slowly and keep my eyes closed.

Once I felt safe enough to walk again, Harry held my hand and helped me up. It was then that I could identify the second person in the forest: Draco Malfoy. He was kneeling beside Snape, an expression of pure disgust on his face. His eyes flicked up at me.

"I thought you were Ginny," he drawled, by way of a greeting. He looked back down at Snape for a moment and then stood. "What does she know?" he asked, as though I wasn't standing right there. While I was looking at Draco, Harry had conjured a glass of water and handed it to me.

"Here, drink. It'll make you feel better," he said. I felt two pairs of eyes on me as I thanked him and drank it gratefully. It tasted funny, but I found myself not caring. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard him asking me questions and listened to my own monotone replies. Words like "Shelly" and "power" and "Cabal" stuck out in my mind. He smiled at me, almost pityingly, and then touched his wand to my forehead.

I shook my head slowly, wondering why Draco and Harry were in the clearing with me just after Ron had left. Had they seen him leave?

"Summon Sirius. He'll know what to do," Harry muttered to Draco in a voice he thought I wouldn't be able to hear. What did Harry want Sirius to do?

Draco nodded from where he was crouched. He was near a tree, fidgeting with something on the ground. When I tried to get a closer look, Harry blocked my line of vision.

"You seem a little disoriented, Anya. How about I take you back to the party?" Harry offered. I nodded, still feeling a little dizzy, and let him walk me back through the forest and into the Weasley backyard.

The Quidditch game was still in its prime when Harry and I returned. Even the wives and young children had gathered around the makeshift pitch. As I saw him looking up at the players, I saw his eyes blur for a moment as thought he was remembering a wonderful game. Before I could ask, his eyes focused again, and he smiled at me.

"Why didn't you ever try out for Quidditch?" he asked.

"It's too unorganized for me, I suppose. I don't think I'd be very good at it." Harry looked sideways at me for a moment before chuckling.

"I suppose it does look disorganized from the ground, but I can assure you that a great deal of planning and strategy go into each play," he said. I felt a little sheepish.

"Well, I didn't mean to offend--" Harry laughed again, and I had a feeling he was trying too hard. I frowned, studying him; he was certainly acting strangely.

"No, not at all," he said. His smiled faded, and an awkward silence fell between us.

I shielded my eyes against the sun and looked up, searching for George. He was arguing with Fred over something, but they were both laughing. George zoomed past me upside down, showing off. I laughed and blew him a kiss as he soared upwards.

"That reminds me; I hear congratulations are in order," Harry teased beside me, hiding a smirk. I glowered at him.

"Oh, honestly, we're not getting married or anything," I said. He let the smile escape and I wrinkled my nose at him. We spoke for a few more minutes, moving over to the other side of the pitch where we didn't have to look at the sun.

"WATCH OUT!" someone shouted from the pitch. The voice sounded so desperate that I didn't know who it was. Everything moving in slow motion, I looked over my shoulder and felt myself being pulled to Harry's chest and my head covered with his hand. A dull thud sounded behind us. He released me slowly and I pulled away, a touch indignant.

"Is he all right?"

"Can you hear me?"

Panicked voices were escalating while a group of Weasleys formed a clump near the edge of the pitch. They were all hovering around something on the ground. Harry pushed his way to the center and I followed slowly, intending on staying on the outskirts. Suddenly, Ginny untangled herself from the mess of people and headed for me.

She looked at me in the eyes and put a hand on each of my shoulders, looking at me carefully. Her face was far too serious for my liking.

"He's going to be fine; don't worry. The Bludger only hit his shoulder..." Ginny said gravely. I frowned, not understanding. I looked over her shoulder at Fred, who had jumped on a Bludger and was wrestling it towards the chest where all the Quidditch balls were kept. Other than looking mildly annoyed, Fred looked none worse for the wear. "Harry doesn't think we need a mediwizard or anything..."

"George," I gasped, finally comprehending. I tried to push past Ginny to get to him, but she held onto me firmly.

"No, he's fine," Ginny tried to say, but I wrenched away from her with more strength than I thought I had in me. The crowd parted before me, just in time for me to see Bill helping George to his feet. George was wincing, as Bill was careful not to let his younger brother tip over. George tried to wave him off.

I ran to George and stopped just short of throwing my arms around him. The last thing he needed was to be knocked off his feet.

"Are you all right?" I asked quickly. "What happened? Oh, that Bludger must have been out of control! Your shoulder--"

"Anya, I'm fine," George interrupted, finally freeing himself from Bill. He grinned a little painfully. "Better me than you, right, love?" At my expression, he rested a hand on each of my shoulders. I calmed slightly. "Ginny fixed me up right quick. It takes more than a Bludger to keep me down." He was still grinning, but I could tell he was clenching his teeth tightly.

"Maybe you ought to--" I began, leading George toward the house, but was cut off by another voice.

"George! What were you thinking? Using real Bludgers!" the ranting began. "Merlin's ghost, there are children present and all you boys care about is your Quidditch..."

"Uh oh," George and I said in unison. We looked up to see Molly Weasley rushing towards us. Before either of us could say another word, Molly snatched George away from me, her rants alternating between her anger at the admittance of a real Bludger into a casual game to her worry over George's poor ickle shoulder.

I followed them into the house and stood silently in the doorway as Molly fussed about the kitchen, looking for her book on magical first aid. George gave me a lopsided smile over his mother's head.

"Mum, I'm fine," George said. He swung his arm and shoulder for emphasis. Either the spells that Ginny had done were kicking in, or he was getting better at masking his pain. "No, really, Mum, it didn't hit that hard..." After a steely glare from his mother, he sighed and resigned himself to one of the kitchen chairs.

I entered the kitchen calmly and plucked the book Molly had been looking for (Crafty Cures for Magical Maladies by Markus Metheglin) from between Gilderoy Lockhart's newest bestseller, Aging With Grace, and Argus Filch's How To Discipline Troublemakers While Grudgingly Remaining Within The Law. I tapped Molly on the shoulder and when she turned to face me, I handed her the book.

"Oh, thank you, Anya!" she said with a broad smile, taking the book from me gratefully. I didn't think I'd be too pretentious to diagnose her as manic-depressive, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Molly crossed the room to George's side, and flipped open the book. She skimmed through a few pages and found her desired section. I watched George's barely concealed exasperation mount as she fired off spell after spell.

"Mum, are you quite finished?" George asked as she finally closed the book. He smiled wearily up at me, and I couldn't help but return the smile.

"You rest that arm; do you hear me?" Molly said, pointing her wand threateningly in George's direction. George nodded patiently and his mother cast a glance in my direction before leaving. "Keep an eye on him, Anya. Leave him to his own devices and he'll be out there playing Quidditch as though nothing ever happened. Honestly, having boys is like..." Her voice trailed off as she left the room.

When I turned back to George, he was rolling his eyes.

"Mothers, eh?" he asked with a smirk. "Can't live with them, can't lock them in a--"

"George!" His smile remained as broad as it had been before, and I wrinkled my nose at him.

"You know you look just like a nervous Puffskien when you do that," George informed me. I winkled my nose at him again for good measure, and he stood up from his chair. I watched him cross to the kitchen window and glance outside.

"PJ had better not be on that broomstick playing my position by time I get out there," George said, half to himself.

"You heard what your mother said," I chided, trying to look stern. I thought I was doing a good job until he turned to smirk at me.

"I have two ears that work perfectly fine," he said, leaning lazily against the sink, his elbows on the counter. Damn, a wizard should not be allowed to stand like that when his witch was in the room and she couldn't do anything about it because the wizard's family was just outside. Bloody hell, it just wasn't fair.

I went to stand before him and waited patiently, looking up into his eyes.

"What?" he whispered very quietly. It made me shiver. He shifted slightly and rose to his full height, bringing his arms around me.

"I suppose if your mother can't convince you to stop playing Quidditch, then I'll have to distract you otherwise..." I reached up and touched the side of his face. I was enjoying this little game of seduction (in the brightly lit kitchen of George's mother's house, no less).

"That is an exceedingly excellent idea, Katie," he murmured.

I could tell by the way he stiffened that he'd realized what he'd said just a moment too late. I stepped back out of his arms, looking wide-eyed up at him. This was too much. I'd known it was too good to be true, but it was too much.

"Anya, I didn't--" he began.

"Didn't what?" I shot back angrily. "Didn't just whisper your ex-girlfriend's name? I can assure you that you did." I turned on my heel, too furious and hurt to want to deal with him, and headed for the door. George was right behind me.

"Wait, let me explain..."

"Explain? Explain what?" I demanded, turning to face him. I wanted to be selfish right then, to cry and make him feel awful, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. "Why now? Why after all this time? She's gone, George. I thought you would be over her." I watched him, wanting him to persuade me out of my anger, but he stared right back at me. "I can't change it. I can't bring her back. And most importantly, I'm not her. I'm sorry." That was the closest I came to bursting into tears.

I turned again, but his voice stopped me from stepping away.

"How can I get over someone I murdered?" he said in a voice full of tears, though I was sure there were none on his face. I froze in place, mind spinning. Murder? George wasn't capable of murder. It was a Sponge that killed Katie. "I'm not lying. I murdered her as sure as if I had cast the Sponge myself. I was supposed to eat lunch with her that day. And because I wasn't there, she went into her house alone."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. This whole thing was so unbelievable.

"Why did you hide this from me?" I finally asked softly, turning. As soon as I saw the look he got in his eyes after those words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.

"Because I knew you'd hate me!" George exploded, stepping towards me so quickly that he wobbled uncertainly for a moment. I stepped backward, away from him, and bumped into the wall. I had an instant flash of Fred in the backroom of 3W. "It was my fault she died. If I had gone out to eat with her like I was supposed to, I--"

"You could have what, George?" I asked boldly, taking a step towards him. "Been Sponged like her? Listen to me; there's nothing you could have done. You can't change the past," I said firmly. I lowered my voice a few levels. "There's nothing you could have done to save her," I whispered. His blue eyes met mine very slowly, as though he was scared.

"I don't know that for sure... all I know is that she's gone forever and it's my fault," he murmured in reply.

"That's dragonshit, George Weasley, and you know it!" I shouted at him, losing my composure. I could feel my blood boiling in my veins as I let go of his arms and clenched my fists at my sides. "You can't just mope around and play the martyr. You've got to accept that you couldn't save her."

"I couldn't save her because I wasn't there! And maybe if I had walked in first, she would have figured out that it was a Sponge and gotten away!" he shouted back, the rising color in his cheeks making his freckles blend in with his reddened face.

"Oh, so you think it'd be better if you had just... just... gone and died and left me by myself?!" I shouted at him.

"That's not what I said,' he told me, the warning tone evident in his voice.

"But that's what you meant. You think that I don't need you--"

"Maybe I don't need you either!" he shot back, eyes narrowed sharply. The blood left my face, and I took a step back. His eyes went wide. He reached out for me, but I flinched away from him. His words pounded in my head: I don't need you...

"Anya, wait. I didn't..." Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes at him.

"Don't touch me," I said lowly in a dangerous voice. I took another step back. "Don't come near me." My voice cracked on these words. He had been pretending, just like the others. Just like Angelina had pretended to explain away Katie and Alicia's taunts. Just like Mum and Dad promised they would always been there for me. Just like Shelly said I could always turn to her for help.

I couldn't face him any longer. Those trusting eyes, that fiery hair, those soft lips, that familiar face... Breathing erratically, I tried to Disapparate. My chest... my lungs were on fire. The sensations of pain forced me to cry out and fall to my knees. My lungs felt like they were shrinking... like they couldn't hold air any longer. It was as though someone had taken a vise and squeezed my entire torso into it.

So this is what the Cruciatus Curse feels like, I thought somewhere in the back of my mind. A hand on my shoulder... a voice... something like a spell... Anti-something... a whisper... "Oh, no..." Then, blackness.

***

Soft sound. A deep, familiar voice. Horrible ache in chest. Dull pain in the back of my head.

"--Can hear me, I need you--Anya?" I cracked my eyes open slightly, trying to focus on the voice rather than the fact that every part of me hurt except for my hair and fingernails. "Anya, can you hear me? Do you see me?" George's blurry face was bent over mine and he looked as though the Bloody Baron had just passed through him.

I nodded slightly and sharp pain tore through my throat. I reached my hand up automatically and rested it on my neck, as though it would have some sort of medicinal effect. I moved my hand slightly and brushed my fingers across the corner of my lips. They came away bloody.

As pale as the Grey Lady, George took my bloody fingers in his. I could feel his hand trembling around mine.

"I called for stretcher-bearers. They should be here any minute," he said softly, sweeping a lock of hair from my face with his free hand. "I need you to keep your eyes open and look at me, okay?" I couldn't nod my head, because I was afraid it would hurt too much. He cradled my cheek with his soft palm and whispered, "I didn't mean what I said. I... I misunderstood what you said... and I was just upset." What a horribly trivial matter to discuss at a time like this, I thought vaguely. His next words sounded very far away as my vision blurred: "Don't close your eyes, Anya. Please."

I did.

To be continued.