George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 7: Year 2

1990 - 1991

September 28, 1990

Dear Annie,

We did it! We made the team! Oliver Wood is captain this year - he's keeper as well. And Charlie's still seeker, of course. But at least no one can say we got on the team just because of Charlie.

Actually, it wasn't much of a competition. No, I'm not bragging. There was only one other bloke who tried out against us. I guess after last season, expectations for Gryffindor glory on the pitch are at an all time low. Still and all, Wood did choose the best fellows for the job!

This season promises to be an uphill battle, to be sure. Apart from Wood and Charlie, the rest of us are rookies and have never played a proper match. Angelina and Alicia do show a good bit of promise as chasers. We've no idea yet how we'll stack up against the other house teams, or how much new blood they'll all have.

Got to go - practice every night this week.

Love,

George & Fred

P.S. You'll be happy to hear we've finally finished peeling from that bloody sunburn!

*

October 15, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

Congratulations on achieving your heart's desire so young in life. I suppose you won't have much time left over for keeping in touch with old friends, now you've got quidditch to live for. Seriously, though, well done both of you.

The term here is going slowly and the weather's turning crap. My mate's brother just got out of the slammer again - just in time to show us another useful trick involving a motor vehicle. Handy to know we'll never be at a loss for transportation again. Unfortunately, some nosy old bag in town happened to mention to my Gran she saw me driving, and I haven't seen daylight since. I'll have to sneak out tonight to post this...

By the way, have you ever played poker? I got a book on it at the library and been teaching myself during my incarceration. We'll have to play when you come home.

Love you more,

Annie

*

November 10, 1990

Dear Annie,

Sorry to hear you got busted. Your luck seems to run out when we're not around. Come to think of it, you probably got in as much trouble with us as without.

And yes, we've heard of poker, you git! Profitable enterprise, indeed. Shows you've got a good head on your shoulders, old girl! We'd be happy to help complete your education, so long as you're willing to make it interesting. Save up your allowance, in other words, and be prepared to part with it. Although what we'll do with all your useless muggle money is beyond me.

I'm saving the exciting news for last: we won our first match against Hufflepuff! Now, in the interest of complete honesty (don't look so shocked, it's been known to happen), I have to confess the following facts:

1. We barely won - by 10 points

2. It was a lucky accident

See, Charlie caught the snitch in spectacular fashion, as usual. But the fact that we scored a single goal was the most improbable thing of all. Suffice it to say our chasers are still somewhat inexperienced (that's the most charitable word I can think of), and somehow in the process of falling off her broom (I swear I am not kidding), Alicia tossed (ahem) the quaffle into the goal.

But a win's a win, right? Now we have 3 months to prep for Ravenclaw. We'll need it - they'll be good, I'll wager.

Tell us more about the motor vehicle business in your next letter...

Love,

George & Fred

*

December 12, 1990

Dear Fred & George,

Happy Christmas, you lot! Although it sounds as if you got your present early, according to your thrilling account of the match (nearly as exciting as seeing it, I'm sure). Congrats, once again!

Regarding the 'motor vehicle business' - you understand of course why I cannot commit the details to paper. I suspect it was a trick question on your part anyway.

Gran has forgiven me at last, and thinks I've learned my lesson. And indeed I have: I will not get caught again. Actually, I feel bad for her, sort of. She's only doing her best, trying to deal with me. It's not her fault I'm so bloody bored that I can't resist the temptation of trouble. Now that I think about it - the fault here is entirely yours.

Best of luck in your next match - sounds as if you'll need it. Assuming you don't get suspended, expelled or kicked off the team for whatever nonsense you get up to over the school break, that is.

Love you more,

Annie

*

January 27, 1991

Dear Annie,

Rough skies ahead: Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff. Quite literally, I'm afraid. Three 'Puffers are still in hospital as I write this. We don't have a prayer against them. We have only until mid-February to improve exponentially or infect Ravenclaw House with dragon pox.

And then Slytherin beat Ravenclaw today. It was close, but... I guess the good news right now is for the next 3 weeks, we're tied with Slytherin for first place for the Quidditch cup, ha ha ha!

Weather is crap. School is crap. Only thing worth doing here is quidditch, and even then we freeze our asses off. Bloody miserable place - the Highlands in winter.

Fred and I have been working on a new move called backbeating, where we hit the bludgers behind us (as I'm sure you could've figured out from the descriptive moniker all on your own, clever girl). So far we've accidentally (I swear) knocked out nearly everyone else on the team but ourselves - perhaps we're better at getting out of the way, or expecting a bludger from any direction? Needless to say our popularity with our teammates is currently on the wane. Angelina now refuses to practice if we're on the pitch, in fact. Some people are just prone to overreaction, I suppose.

At least you still care...

Love,

George & Fred

*

February 14, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Sorry to hear things are so desperate with you. Things are not much better here. What is it about winter that is so conducive to misery? Oh, right: cold, rain, and lack of sunlight. I think I'd rather live on a tropical island rather than this one.

Nothing happening here worth writing about. Good luck against Ravenclaw tomorrow.

Love you more,

Annie

*

February 28, 1991

Dear Annie,

Happy Birthday! We will not spoil the day by discussing what happened two weeks ago. You don't want to hear it, and we're trying to block out the memory.

We snuck into Honeydukes via secret tunnel last night and got you a few things. No, we did not nick them, you suspicious little rat - old Flume will find the coins on the countertop this morning, I promise. My favorite are the peppermint frogs and Fred sends you the pepper imps. Goes without saying I hope that you should not eat them with witnesses present. Enjoy the effects!

Love,

George & Fred

*

April 1, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Happy Birthday you lot! I think you'll enjoy these - hide the metal part in your palm, then shake someone's hand. Right up your alley, trust me.

Chins up, mates! No use dwelling on the past! Second term's nearly over - just a few more weeks of school and it's lazy summer holidays once again.

Thanks for my present - though you could have warned me about the pepper imps. They certainly clear the sinuses, don't they? Sorry it took so long to write back. Got into another spot of a bother - won't bore you with the details. But now that the light's at the end of the tunnel, I'm on my best behavior, anticipating freedom once you're back home.

Love you more,

Annie

*

May 3, 1991

Dear Annie,

Those hand buzzers were brilliant! We nailed everyone in the House with them before they broke. Now no one in the whole school will shake hands with us! You're the absolute best!

Slytherin has just won another match, taking first place in the standings. At least we can't finish dead last. We're set to play them June 2. No matter what Wood says (he's full of pep talks these days), Fred and I no longer care if we lose (and we will, let's be realistic). But we're taking out as many of them as we can along the way.

The gloves are off, so to speak. I'm so sick of them prancing about, talking smack. It's going to be rather difficult for them to speak at all when we're through with them. Though I do hope I can convince Fred to abandon his plan to launch a few bludgers into the Slytherin supporters in the stands.

Love,

George & Fred

P.S. Thanks for fingering me you prat! (Fred wrote this - ha ha!)

*

June 1, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Don't give up hope, boys! It's your brother Charlie's last match, after all. Try to win one for him! Or at the very least, don't get Gryffindor disqualified and ruin it for him. Miracles do happen, you know. Okay, usually not to people like you and Fred, but still... maybe someone else on your team is due for one!

Write back soon and tell me when you're coming home. Only a couple of weeks left to go now...

Love you more,

Annie

*

June 15, 1991

Dear Annie,

Just a quick note today. Unless we hear from you before then, meet us at the fort Saturday. Bring your bike - we want to see what you mean about the motor vehicle thing (no, we didn't forget).

Love,

George & Fred

P.S. No miracle to report - unless you count 5 Slytherins in hospital versus only 3 Gryffindors. Do hope Wood recovers fully - I feel bad about missing that bludger that beaned him...

*

They were supposed to be here by now. If her friends weren't coming, they should have told her. They didn't have more than a couple of days left to spend together before they left once more for school. It wasn't fair, Annie fumed, bristling at their inconsiderate treatment of her.

She strongly suspected she knew exactly where to find them. After all, they seldom stopped talking, writing or thinking about it. All day, everyday. That bloody stupid game! What was so all-fired wonderful about it anyway?

Okay, flying on brooms sounded like a lot of fun. So did chasing after that little snitch ball with wings. And she had to admit, she was pretty interested in seeing exactly what those bludgers did.

Well then, what's stopping me? she asked herself. She knew where they would be - she'd been to the orchard before with her friends. It was their favorite spot to blow things up, whenever they were lucky enough to get their hands on a bit of explosives. That was before all this rotting quidditch business, though. She'd bet all the money she had in the world that's exactly where they were right now. Maybe she'd just march over there and give them a piece of her mind!

As she trekked through the woods, she considered what she'd say to them if given the chance. She'd tell them exactly where to stick those blessed Cleansweep Five's, that's what. Fine way to treat an old friend, leaving her to sweat in that tiny tree fort, twiddling her thumbs with nothing to do. Forget it! Screw them! she huffed as she stomped through the trees.

As she approached the gentle incline that led to the paddock hidden by the orchard, her anger was quickly dissipating, turning into self-doubt. Who could blame them, after all? Why would they want to spend all day with an uninteresting muggle girl, when they could be flying about playing a magical game with other wizards? She knew she'd do the same in a heartbeat, if she could, regardless of whom was waiting for her elsewhere.

She crept closer, attracted by the voices of her friends and their brothers she could now hear clearly. The heroic Bill and legendary Charlie were both back at home for a brief holiday; yet another reason her best friends would rather be here than with her. Who wouldn't prefer a dashing curse-breaker and a daring future dragon-tamer for company? Not to mention their brothers were wizards who were of age, and could do magic with no fear of recriminations.

Annie peeked around a large tree trunk she was hiding behind, careful to remain hidden by a nearby shrub. Her jaw dropped at the sight before her. Five red-headed boys flew about like zooming dragonflies, dipping and looping and soaring. Apparently the youngest brother could fly now as well, or maybe he was just getting away with something - there was no way could that be Percy on a broom, from what her friends had told her about their prat of a brother. They were making an unholy racket, either shouting commands at each other or just simply whooping with the joy of the activity.

She heard a loud, metallic crack, and recognized George's voice as he called out, "Take that one, Bill!" A soccer-sized ball went whistling through the air toward a very tall-looking man, his long legs and arms gripping a hovering broom, with long hair fluttering behind him in the breeze. Bill easily maneuvered out of the way of the bludger, which then changed direction and began chasing him.

Annie nearly clawed the bark from the tree in anxiety. Fly faster, Bill! she silently urged him. She didn't like the way the menacing ball was closing the distance between itself and the broom rider. Look out! she nearly called out loud. She edged out from behind the tree to get a better view.

Just then, Fred appeared beside Bill. He raised a smallish bat with his right arm and swung against the bludger. There was a loud clank as the bat made contact with the pursuing ball, and it changed direction for good this time. Annie breathed a sigh of relief that Fred had been there to rescue his older brother from the intimidating cannonball.

It was thrilling to watch, this quidditch game, she had to confess. How could she have ever thought that riding a stupid dirt bike could ever compare to this? She watched as the one she assumed was Charlie circled the makeshift pitch, spinning through the air on his broom like a rifle bullet with one arm extended out in front of him, reaching our for something unseen by her eyes. That move would have definitely made her sick, she thought.

And then the realization hit her like a bludger. She would never know for sure, would she? She would never fly on a broom like her friends and their brothers could do. She would never feel this kind of freedom.

Sickening jealousy wrestled with a profound sense of loss within Annie. The cursed circumstances of her birth began piling up in her mind. She had been born too small, too early, too ill. Worst of all: unwanted. Unloved by her parents. And now yet another 'un' to add to the list: un-magical.

Was it harder to deal with because she alone knew the alternative? No one else she spent her time with lamented the fact they could not do magic. Not that she'd ever asked, of course; but it was obvious all the same that nobody else spared a moment's thought about it. Yet Annie knew the existence of another world. That magic was real. That it was so close she could reach out and touch it, or at least walk amidst it. She often snuck into the woods when Fred and George were gone at school, searching for imps and fairies to cheer her. It helped that she could still find them on her own, reassuring her that all her memories were real, and everyone else was mistaken.

"Look out, Charlie!" shouted George.

Annie's attention focused once again on the activity in the air before her. Across the orchard, Fred and George both were jetting toward a bludger chasing after Charlie.

"They're going for a dopplebeater!" cried the smallest boy in a high pitched voice.

That must be Ron, thought Annie, as she watched the twins both raise their batting arms as one.

With a force that made them each spin on their brooms, Fred and George hit the bludger simultaneously and were treated to a rousing cheer from the other flyers around them.

Annie had only a split second to react. The bludger was headed directly for her at nearly the speed of lightening, she reckoned. She ducked, reflexively bringing up her right hand as a shield. The next instant she was on the ground and heard the ball zoom past her head once again as it returned to the orchard-pitch.

And then she felt it.

Blinding pain had finally traveled the nerve endings from her right forearm to her brain. So intense she could barely breathe, let alone cry out. Instinctively, she hugged her arm to her body - an action resulting in a new wave of pain that made her retch.

Using her legs, she gingerly scooted on her back until she reached the tree and eased herself into a seated position, leaning against the trunk. Then she hazarded a glance down at her injured arm. About half-way between her elbow and her wrist, her right arm bent outwards at an odd angle. The sight was so jarring it made her head spin.

Annie took a few moments to catch her breath. The pain wasn't going away, nor was it getting any easier to bear. She heard the voices of the boys still playing from behind her. They hadn't noticed her presence, much less that she had been hit.

"Fred?" The most she could muster was a very faint whimper. No good. Should she try again, see if she could yell any louder? Maybe try to stand, walk out onto the field? She thought about what would happen then: Fred and George would see her, help her home... in front of their brothers.

Then the jig would be up. Their secret blown. The rest of the family would find out about her. And that was unacceptable. She couldn't put Fred and George in jeopardy like that. She wouldn't risk their friendship, no matter how much it hurt her.

Annie gritted her teeth as she braced herself against the tree trunk, using it to help her get to her feet. The pain was making her head spin, but she steadied herself with the tree until the spell had passed. Then slowly, panting with the effort, she began walking home, cradling her broken arm against her body.

Three hours later Annie was sitting in a stark, antiseptic emergency room. At least the pain is gone, she thought gratefully, watching the doctor adding wet, goopy plaster and gauze to the cast on her arm. At least, that's what she assumed it had felt like, since her arm was completely numb at the moment. She could hear him periodically mutter words like "ludicrous," and "unbelievable," under his breath.

The walk home through the woods had been excruciating. Gran had thankfully been too shocked at the sight of her mangled arm to give her any immediate third degree about how it happened. Mrs. Finnerty, the neighbor lady, had driven them the short distance to the hospital in Ottery.

But as Annie had exited the x-ray room and she sat next to the examination table with her arm propped on it, waiting for the pain medication to take full effect before they set the break, she had seen that the inquisition was about to commence.

It had come from the doctor first. "Young lady, how did this happen?" he had asked, glancing at the x-ray films.

"Er, um... I sort of... fell?"

Gran raised an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically.

"You fell? From what, a three story building?" the doctor had demanded, still not looking at her.

"Well, no. I fell from... my bike."

"You expect me to believe that you snapped both your radius and ulna by falling from a bicycle?" he had asked incredulously.

Annie had nodded, feigning confidence she did not feel. "I was going really fast. Sorry Gran," she had added. She had meant it, but not for the reason she hoped Gran would assume.

"Then where are the other bruises and abrasions, hmm? You must have skidded along the road, going so fast..." he had asked then, figuring he'd caught her in a lie.

Annie had shrugged. "I just sort of... hit a rock... and then I flew over the handlebars... and landed on my arm... on some grass. No skidding."

"Well, I can see I'm not going to get the real story out of you," he snapped.

Annie's Gran had spoken up then. "My granddaughter doesn't lie, Doctor. If she says that's how it happened, that's how it happened. Now if you please, just patch her up, so I can take her home."

Annie's eyes and heart had sunk to the floor as her grandmother spoke. She felt like a toad, forcing her Gran to defend her bald-faced lie to the doctor. She was only in this predicament because of her stupid temper, and her revolting jealousy of her best friends. She didn't deserve her loving Gran, or her friends. She had never felt so utterly worthless, and that was saying something.

After the cast was set and her arm was resting in a sling, they finally left the hospital. It was well after dinner time, and Annie was starving.

"I sent Mrs. Finnerty home, dear. It wouldn't be right to make her wait on us all that time. I hope you feel up to walking home," Gran said tenderly.

Annie nodded. Her arm was beginning to ache, but she reckoned she deserved whatever pain she felt, and probably more. She almost hoped her Gran would call her out for the lie, punish her, send her to bed with no supper; anything to relieve the guilt.

"We'll have a quick fry-up for supper, then you need to lie down, get some rest. I expect tomorrow will be quite difficult for you, learning how to manage with that cast, my dear. No more bikes or forest walks for you for a while, I imagine. I'm just glad your bicycle wasn't damaged, and you weren't hurt any worse." Gran gently put her arm around Annie's shoulders, gave her a little squeeze of a hug, and a peck on the cheek.

Why was Gran being so understanding, now that she knew Annie was a proven liar? She couldn't have believed the bike story any more than the doctor did. Was she now punishing Annie with kindness, instead of anger, making her squirm with the guilt of it? Annie had never felt more miserable than she did at this moment, and a tear rolled down her cheek as they walked home together with darkness falling around them.