George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 6: Year 1

1989 - 1990

Annie rode her bike aimlessly through Ottery and its surroundings, mindlessly searching for something to do. She hadn't been this bored since... well, maybe never. It was nearly impossible now to recall life before she had met her best friends, after all. She hadn't gone three weeks like this without seeing them since they had met.

On the far side of town, as far as she could get from her house and still be in Ottery, she began to hear an unfamiliar sound - mechanical... buzzing.... Maybe a saw? Sometimes louder and slightly higher pitched, then lower and rumbling.

Finally, something remotely interesting, she thought. She sped up to search for it, letting the sound guide her.

She soon reached a large, open field out past the edge of town. Three boys were standing together not far from her, watching as a fourth was riding about on the source of the buzzing: a small motorbike, built for riding on a dirt track. She recognized it from a book she had read about them once. There were tracks for dirt bikes elsewhere with jumps and hills. Of course, here in Ottery, there was nothing so exciting as a great flat field at the base of Stoatshead Hill. Annie stood watching them for a while, transfixed.

The current rider's turn must have been over, because he returned to the group and climbed off. Annie noticed at that moment something unusual about the boy. He had hair almost, but not quite, like Fred's and George's. It was flaming red, but it stood up stiff and bushy on his head, not lying down soft and straight like her friends'. Annie took it as a favorable sign anyway, and pedaled over to meet them.

One of the onlookers noticed her approach. "Hey kid, get lost," he called out.

Another turned to look for the source of the disturbance, and echoed his mate's sentiment. "Yeah, go home."

The first boy was further emboldened by the fact his friend followed his lead. "A baby like you belongs safe at home with mummy!" He laughed derisively along with the others.

The comment got Annie's dander up. "I'm not a baby! I'm eleven. And I've got just as much right to be here as you."

"Oh really?" asked the boy, taking a few steps intended to be threatening toward her.

Annie let her bike drop, lifting her head defiantly, standing her ground. The boy then halted his forward movement, apparently unaccustomed to being stood up to.

The red-headed boy, still holding the bike, finally weighed in. "Hey kid, what's your name?"

"Annie Jones," she answered proudly. She wasn't scared of these boys, and she wanted them to know it.

The first boy's mouth dropped open in surprise. "A girl?" he cried in disbelief.

The second boy, seizing upon the mistake of his friend, pounced immediately. "You were gonna pick a fight with a girl!" He laughed in an unfriendly way.

The red-headed boy's eyes narrowed, as if he recognized her name. "Aren't you the kid who beat seven shades of shit out of Tim Molloy this summer?" he asked her.

The three other boys stopped their teasing of each other and quietly looked at her with newfound interest. Apparently, news of the incident at the schoolyard had spread quickly. Annie wondered if the story had included the reason for her attack on the bully.

"Some people don't know when to keep their mouths shut," she offered with a shrug.

The three sheep, for Annie had now pegged them as the followers, turned to look at the red-headed boy to see his reaction to this girl's unlikely claim.

"Yeah, that kid sure has a big mouth. And a big fat ass to match," the boy said as he turned to his flock with a smile.

They understood it was expected of them to laugh, and did so.

The shepherd looked back at Annie and introduced himself. "My name is Stephen, and these gits are Geoff, Tom, and Mike. Come on, Geoff - your turn," he said as he handed the bike to the next boy. Stephen strolled over to where Annie stood and together they watched as Geoff peeled out, flying down the field away from them.

Annie was now watching the dirt bike with something akin to lust in her eyes. She desperately wanted to get on that thing. Her brain began to work in overtime now, plotting her strategy. She knew it would take some clever diplomacy, if it was even at all possible....

Now that their leader had relocated his focus, the other boys did the same, walking as casually as they could muster over to where Annie stood as well.

"Nice bit of work, there, kid," one of them muttered. "Didja break Stewart's nose as well then?"

Still on about that? Annie wondered, irritated at the boy for interrupting her thoughts. "Yeah, I suppose. He made the mistake of getting involved. Should've minded his own business."

"You don't look like you could take on two blokes all on your own," the argumentative one pressed her.

Annie tore her eyes away from the dirt bike and glared at him squarely as if to tell him if he wanted proof, she'd be happy to oblige. Even though technically it had been four bullying boys she had taken on, she hadn't been precisely alone at the time, and there was really no need to go into such complicated explanations. "What's your name, again?" she asked him quietly.

The boy, to his credit, read her expression accurately. And while part of him was itching to challenge this tiny little interloping girl with her unbelievable assertions, he also knew that if the story was true, there were good odds he might suffer some damage himself whilst fighting a girl, with his gang as witnesses. It was a no-win situation, and he knew it. He licked his lips, then snorted in a dismissive way.

"Tom," he answered.

The boy named Geoff finally returned several long minutes later after a signal from Stephen. Tom and Mike began to argue amongst themselves who should go next. Apparently they had already had one turn, and were jostling for their second chance. Annie took advantage of the disturbance to step up to the bike.

"Can I have a go?" she asked, looking Stephen right in the eye and speaking only to him. She figured that she might improve her chances by acknowledging him as the ringleader, if she had any chance at all.

The rest of the boys silently glanced at each other, unsure how to respond. Normally, they would have dressed her down for her cheek. A girl? On the dirt bike? But Stephen seemed to like her, for some reason, and no one wanted to cross him until the situation became clearer.

Stephen stepped forward, taking the handlebars from his friend. "Yeah, I'll give you a ride," he offered with a smug grin on his face, as if it pleased him that she had chosen him to ask. That she wanted to ride with him. "Just hold on tight," he said with a chuckle as he began to climb on to the seat.

"No, I mean on my own. Will you show me how?" Annie didn't want to be anybody's pet. She wanted to be accepted as an equal; no more, and certainly no less. She desperately wanted to ride the bike, but only on her own terms.

Uncertainty was painted on Stephen's face. This clearly was not what he had expected.

"I promise I'll be careful," she added, not sure if it would help.

After a pause, Stephen shrugged. "If you really think you can handle it," he said doubtfully.

"Just show me," she urged with a smile.

Annie couldn't believe her luck. Stephen held the bike still as she climbed on. He pointed out the throttle, clutch, and brakes, explaining briefly how to use them.

"Got it?" he asked her doubtfully.

Annie nodded, eager to take off. Following his instructions, she slowly rolled forward, then built up speed as she became sure of her balance. Within a minute, she was flying through the tall grass, the wind screaming past her ears and bringing tears to her eyes. This must be what it feels like to fly, she thought elatedly. Who needs a manky old broom after all?

*

September 24, 1989

Dear Annie,

See, we promised we'd write. Fred's handwriting is completely illegible, and he's a lazy git, so I have to do it all. Anyway, Hogwarts is loads of fun. The first night after we got here on the train, we both got Sorted into Gryffindor house, just like everyone else in the family before us. Then there was this massive feast, and more food than we ever saw before just appeared on the tables out of nowhere!

And guess what? There are secret tunnels that lead out of the castle, all over the place! Well, so far we've only found the one, but we're betting there's more. We will find them, I swear, or die trying.

Classes are okay, I suppose. It's cool to get to do magic finally, but something about sitting in classrooms all day leaves a bit to be desired. You must know what I mean - you've been doing it for years now. How the blazes do you stand it? How long did it take you to get used to it?

Well, that's all we've got for now. Write back soon, and tell us how you are.

Love,

George & Fred

*

October 1, 1989

Dear Fred & George,

Why am I not surprised Fred can't write? I suppose you both do read, don't you? So glad to hear you're having fun. It's dead boring here. And, sorry to be the bearer of bad news: school stinks. Always has, always will.

All castles have secret passageways, you git. And ghosts. And dungeons. And suits of armor. And moats with drawbridges. Do you have a dragon there as well, guarding a tower?

As for the magic business, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'll believe it when I see it. At least I can say I can make something happen with a wand.

I met some blokes in the village who let me try riding their dirt bike. It was loads of fun. It's a sort of bicycle with a motor, and it can go pretty fast. They don't fly, of course, but a good time all the same.

Better go. Write back soon.

Love you more,

Annie

*

November 15, 1989

Dear Annie,

Blimey, you should've been here for the Halloween feast! Never seen so much food, and that doesn't even count the heaps of sweets. We literally ate ourselves sick. I mean it - we puked. Swear it's true!

Just yesterday was Gryffindor's first quidditch match of the year! Charlie plays seeker, you know. He was brilliant, of course - caught the snitch right under the other team's nose - but we lost anyway. The rest of the team are complete morons. Two more cack-handed beaters you'll never meet. Fred and I could do far better.

Hogwarts definitely doesn't have a moat, or a drawbridge. Or a dragon, that we can find. It's got the rest though, plus a lake and the Forbidden Forest. How do you know so much about castles?

The dirt bike sounds cool. Do you think we could put those motor-things on our bikes and make them go faster?

Speaking of brooms, flying lessons started a while back. It's just as brilliant as you can imagine. Fred seems to think that if we practice a lot, maybe we could make the quidditch team next year. As horrid as Gryffindor are now, he just might be right.

Write back soon.

Love,

George & Fred

*

November 19, 1989

Dear Fred & George,

Sorry I missed the puke fest. That surely must have been entertaining. No, on second thought, it wouldn't. How disgusting! You lot are pigs!

You'll have to explain more about the quidditch stuff. I only know what's in the Cannons mag you lot had at the fort, which means nothing at all. What's a seeker or a beater do? And who was the snitch? Aren't you allowed to play quidditch?

I know about castles because I can READ, idiot. Funny little rectangular things made of paper, words all over: they're called BOOKS. Look into it.

I picked up a very useful trick in the last week: a school chum of mine has a brother who - well - let's just say he knows some very interesting stuff. Been around the block a bit, if you get my meaning. Anyway, he showed a few of us how to open a locked door without a key. Like I said, could come in pretty handy some day. Maybe I'll show you when I see you, since this magic thing of yours is all talk anyway.

Speaking of seeing you, are you lot coming home for Christmas? Write back soon and tell me.

Love you more,

Annie

*

December 8, 1989

Dear Annie,

It would take several rolls of parchment to explain quidditch, especially to a great muggle like yourself, so that will have to wait until we see you. And unfortunately, it doesn't look like we're meant to come home just yet. Now that Bill's in Egypt (did we tell you he got a job as curse-breaker for Gringott's?), and the four of us are here at school, I think Mum has really gotten used to the "peace and quiet" of having only two kids left in the house. She's one of those odd birds who enjoy that sort of thing. Suffice it to say that now she's got us out of the house, she's in no great hurry to have us all back.

We can open locked doors without a key as well, silly girl. But I admit your way sounds intriguing too.

It's flipping cold here. Snot freezes in your nose while you sleep, I swear. Been snowing for three weeks already now! For the first time I'm grateful for all those bleeding jumpers Mum has made us over the years.

Write back soon, and have a Happy Christmas if we don't write again before.

Love,

George & Fred

*

January 10, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

Sorry I haven't been able to write. Got into a bit of hot water a while ago and Gran's only just now letting me see the light of day again. Remember that little trick I told you about in my last letter? Well, some mates of mine and I decided that some previously confiscated contraband materials (which shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) deserved to be liberated from the place they were doomed to spend the holidays. Employing said trick on several doors, including the rear entrance of the school building, our merry band gained entry and began to search. Being the only non-moron of the group, I was able to maintain my focus on the mission at hand. Sadly, my git companions were not, and unbeknownst to me began to inflict damage on our hallowed halls (the stupid wankers!). Also unbeknownst to me, the rear door was equipped with a silent alarm. Long story concluded: I was caught red-handed.

Unsurprisingly, Christmas was grim. Hope yours was better. Write back soon.

Love you more,

Annie

*

January 15, 1990

Dear Annie,

Well done you! Did they really have you bang to rights? Were the cops involved or just the teachers? Are we talking jail, or just house arrest?

As for trouble, you do remember who you are writing to, don't you? Fred and I pride ourselves on the fact that we haven't spent a free evening out of detention for a solid month. Most often due to our dear old mate Mr. Filch (the castle caretaker) nabbing us thanks to his bloody cat. I swear I will poison that thing personally if it's the last thing I do! We were just nipping down to the kitchens, recently discovered during our holidays here, for a snack. Sure, it was well after curfew, but when you're hungry - you know, growing boys and all. Or maybe you don't, pint-sized as you are.

Anyway, we were lucky enough to be left alone in his office when he got called out for another 'incident.' He really should have known better. We had a full fifteen minutes unsupervised to rifle through his files of prior student offenses, as well as drawers crammed with confiscated booty. It was bloody brilliant, I tell you! We can't even begin to fully appreciate the windfall yet - some of the stuff will take a while to figure out how to operate.

Don't take so long to write back this time - you had us worried you were carried off by a cat or something.

Love,

George & Fred

*

February 7, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

Cops don't arrest eleven year old kids, you morons. Honestly, it must say something about me that I surround myself with half-brained gits all the time.

Tell me more about your classes. We have mostly a great load of crap: maths, science, history, literature, the usual. Dead boring bullshit about dead boring old farts.

There is absolutely nothing happening here. I miss you two.

Love you more,

Annie

*

February 29, 1990

Dear Annie,

Happy Birthday! You're finally 3! Been a long time coming! Ha Ha Ha!

You sounded horribly mopey in your last letter, so we brewed this up to cheer you. Either that, or you might become very forgetful for a bit. Maybe write your name on your hand before you drink it, just in case.

Our classes: Astronomy (snore), Charms (decent fun, for a class), Transfiguration (okay), Herbology (so-so... Fred likes it more than I do), Potions (ugh - the absolute worst due to the massive git who teaches it), Defense Against the Dark Arts (sounds like it should be fun, but it isn't), and History of Magic, which is literally taught by a dead boring bloke.

Gryffindor lost again. Oh well, maybe next match Charlie will get luckier.

Cheer up Annie! Second term's half over! Write back soon.

Love,

George & Fred

*

March 20, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

Wow that stuff is amazing! What is it? How did you make it? It was such a weird color at first I was scared to try it so I waited for a few days but then I did this morning and wow!

The most hilarious thing happened today I just have to tell you! I was sitting at school minding my own business when Miss Pilton (I know, the name alone is hysterical!) asked Justin Day what was the name of the bones of the hands and he said phalanges which is right I know but he didn't say the word the right way it sounded more like fall-angles and I just about died laughing! She sent me to the hallway for disrupting the class but I mean come on that was just too funny! Nobody else in the class was laughing but nobody here has a sense of humor anyway so that's no surprise.

Hold on, Gran is knocking at my door. Oops she says the school just called and wanted to know if I was DRUNK today at school! Ha! No Gran I said just really cheerful. Then she smelled my breath and I tried really hard not to laugh but I did giggle a little bit so she made me drink two cups of coffee even though she said she couldn't smell any booze but now I feel a little jumpy. I think I'll go outside for a bit and run around. Hey, why don't I just send this off to you right now good idea. Write back soon.

Love you more and more and more,

Annie

*

March 27, 1990

Dear Annie,

Next time someone gives you a potion to drink, don't let it sit around for so long. Sometimes those things can get stronger with age, which is apparently the case with that one. Hope you didn't embarrass yourself too much.

Anyway, here's some thrilling news. We just cracked one of the more brilliant items we've ever come across. Remember when we told you about nicking stuff from Filch? Well, one scrappy bit of parchment turns out to be a dead useful map of Hogwarts including 7(count them!) bloody awesome secret tunnels. But wait, there's more! It shows where every single person is at any given moment! We'll never get caught again!

Well, we're off for adventures tonight!

Love,

George & Fred

*

April 1, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

I can't decide whether to be mad at you or not about the potion. I got in trouble, but it was pretty brilliant, I have to admit. You could make a fortune selling that stuff.

Here is some fleabane I found yesterday in the woods. It's starting to come up early this year - it's been a warm spring. You told me once it was good for something, but I don't remember what. Hope you like it. Happy Birthday!

Two terms down, one to go. See you soon!

Love you more,

Annie

*

April 15, 1990

Dear Annie,

Thanks loads for the fleabane! We've seen it mentioned in several very interesting-looking potion recipes... should make for some fun experiments.

Unfortunately, we don't have much time to write. Far from keeping us out of trouble, the map has landed us in quite a bit more as of late. Sure, we always know who's coming, but can't always escape in time. I told Fred we really need to start focusing on disillusionment charms, but they're pretty advanced, so no luck yet. Maybe Charlie can help us out with them this summer.

As you know, we didn't make it home for Easter holiday either. Mum has to let us come home for summer though, so we'll see you then!

Love,

George & Fred

*

May 17, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

I don't have much free time either. Between studying for exams under Gran's watchful eye and going to school, she's got me renovating the entire garden this spring. Says it's time for me to learn horticulture, and since it's not part of school curriculum, it falls to her to teach it. I think she's just trying to keep me under her thumb and out of trouble. Doesn't matter much now anyway... I kind of like the gardening, and I've been on my best behavior lately, keeping my nose clean so we can be free to hang out together this summer. Write back and tell me when you'll be home.

Love you more,

Annie

*

June 10, 1990

Dear Annie,

I can barely write, so I don't blame you if you think it's Fred and not me. This exam business is for the birds. There has to be a more dignified way of proving you were not listening to a word your professors were saying all year long. I mean let's all be reasonable, shall we?

And to add salt to the wound, Gryffindor lost AGAIN. That's 0-3, if you're counting. There's always next year, I guess.

Can't wait to get out of here and be done with it! Meet us June 23 at the fort, and bring your bike.

Love,

George & Fred

*

Annie leaned back against the wall of the tree fort, smiling in utter contentment, anticipating her best friends' arrival. This summer had been everything she had hoped for throughout all the long months of school. It was if they had never been apart. The comfortable rapport of before picked right up where they had left off. They met nearly every morning in the forest, on bikes or on foot, usually with some adventurous plan for the day.

Well, there was one significant difference: quidditch. Each afternoon after lunch, the boys left Annie alone for several hours to practice the game with their brother Charlie. It had become an obsession of theirs. They were fiercely determined to make the Gryffindor team next fall.

They had tried for an entire day to explain all the rules and strategies of the game to her. And she understood the general point of the game, she reckoned. It was just so difficult for her to picture in her mind. Annie was sure they had to be exaggerating about some things anyway, which didn't help. Hoops that soared fifty feet into the air? Get real.

The favorite game of wizards and witches all over the globe had become a serious inconvenience to Annie. But she was willing to sacrifice a few hours each afternoon in exchange for the reliable happiness and entertainment of the rest of the day. And to kill the time while she waited for them, she had developed a surprising hobby: she began to read for pleasure. Usually she read tales of fantasy and adventure, borrowed from the library, and easily hidden from her friends who had caught her once and took the mickey out of her for it. Other times she chose true tales of travel or technology. She ruefully confessed to herself that she was learning quite a bit this summer.

She had almost forgotten, over the past year, what it was like to be treated like an equal among friends. Like her opinion mattered. Like her ideas were worthwhile. Her 'friends' during the school year certainly didn't subscribe to any notions of equality amongst their ranks. To them she was small and female, and therefore least interesting or important.

Still, it had been far better killing time pulling stunts with her new mates than those first mind-numbing weeks of boredom after Fred and George had left. She had had some fun, shared some laughs with her substitute friends, hadn't she? And they had learned that she wouldn't be bullied. Nor would she tolerate any fresh remarks, which had begun to surface this spring. She had held her own in every fight, and never chickened out of a dare. She had proved herself trustworthy by never ratting them out during the fiasco of the school break-in. Surely she had earned some level of their respect, she reckoned.

And anyway, what choice did she have? Apparently all the girls her age were interested in topics Annie couldn't care less about : romance first and foremost, then television, movies, clothes and makeup, but only as they related to the primary topic. Not only did Annie not have access to any of those things - she and Gran had a TV, but it was only turned on for an hour in the evening for the news - she wouldn't want them if she did. She cringed to merely contemplate being forced to listen to all that drivel. Blech.

No matter. Today promised to be an adventure to remember: she and the twins planned to ride their bikes six miles to the nearest beach. She had stuffed her backpack with food and her camera - her twelfth birthday present from Gran - and her bike was leaning against the willow's trunk. And the best part of all: she would be with her friends all day long for once. No quidditch today!

The ride was long, hot and quiet; especially that last mile. But now they were sitting on the beach, enjoying the cooling breezes on their wet skin.

"Have to admit, George... it's nice to not be sitting on a broom for a change," Fred confessed.

George chuckled. "My backside will never be the same, I'm afraid."

"Surely we'll make the team, don't you think?"

"Charlie seems to think so...."

Annie sighed and rolled her eyes. Quidditch again? Her friends had always been determined fellows when it came to adventurous stunts, but this was bordering on pathological.

"Charlie's captain anyway - he gets to choose who's in. Why are you worried?" she asked them, exasperated.

"No, he isn't. Didn't we tell you?" asked Fred.

"Last match of the year, he swore to the team he'd quit captain if they didn't win. Sort of a radical, balls-to-the-wall pep talk," explained George.

"And as you well know..."

"Gryffindor got clobbered..."

"And he was true to his word. Resigned the captain position."

"So who's to be the captain this year?" Annie asked, only very slightly curious.

"Dunno. But it won't be Charlie."

"Which actually helps our chances a bit. Charlie might've passed us over just to avoid any suspicion of nepotism."

"But that's an excellent question, Annie. Who do you think it might be, George?"

Annie should have seen it coming. How stupid of her to say anything that would continue the conversation in this vein. They droned on, naming every bloke and lass in Gryffindor House, comparing relative skills and other merits. Of course they came to no conclusion whatsoever. Another pointless half-hour of quidditch blather.

"Let's go for another swim. I'm roasting!" she cried, finally managing to get a word in edgewise.

The three of them dove into the water, splashing and dunking each other for almost fifteen minutes before the subject was broached again.

"Did we tell you, Annie? Dad promised us both brooms if we make the team!"

"No, you hadn't mentioned that. You haven't mentioned quid-effing-ditch for nearly a quarter of an hour. It's a record!"

Fred laughed. "Are we boring you?"

"To tears!" she cried. "I'm utterly stupefied with boredom. Please can we talk about something else? Anything else!"

"How about the state of cauldron bottoms?" teased George.

"Oh my, it's frightful! Shamefully thin and dirty to boot!" exclaimed Fred. "What has the world come to?" he added, splashing Annie.

"You can kiss my cauldron bottom!" she laughed with a splash in return. Both boys made convincingly realistic retching noises in response.

"I'm famished. Bring anything else in your bag to eat?" asked Fred, changing the subject.

"Dunno if you've left anything uneaten. We can go look, if you like," she offered, and they began traipsing back to their spot on the sand.

As they sat down, Annie took a good look at both boys. "You know, maybe we should move out of the sun. You two are looking a bit... lobster-ish."

"Don't be silly, it's nothing," explained Fred confidently.

"Have you ever been sunburned before?" she asked dubiously. Both boys shrugged as they dug into the last of the sandwiches. "Maybe you should put your shirts back on..." she recommended.

"It's hot!" George complained. "Mind your own business, anyway."

"Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you..."

The trio munched quietly on the food for another minute.

"I wonder if we could get a couple of used Cleansweep Five's?" asked Fred.

"I suppose so," agreed George. "Now that the Seven is out, Dad could probably find a good price on a couple of Five's."

"ARGH!" Annie flopped backwards onto the sand in frustration.