George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 8: Year 3

1991 - 1992

Annie strolled down the street. She had been cooped up in the house with Gran for almost exactly a week, and couldn't stand any more. It didn't matter that she wasn't feeling well at the moment, or that Gran had gone out of her way to be nice to her the entire time - both these things in fact worked together to force her out. She deserved the nagging, aching pain in her arm, she reckoned. But she was sick of wallowing in the guilt that Gran's never-ending kindness left her mired in.

The weather was still quite warm, and the cast and sling were distinctly uncomfortable. Annie's arm felt swollen, itchy and heavy on top of the pain from her broken bones. At least it wasn't her writing arm, she thought gratefully. That is, assuming Fred and George would write her at all, since she had stood them up before they left. She hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye to them this year.

And while the physical activity of her brisk walk in the sunshine was improving her mood somewhat, she was still feeling a bit prickly as she turned down the street toward Stephen's house. She didn't know for sure that they would be there, but that was the most likely place to find them, she figured.

Annie was in luck. Three boys sat on the front stoop, looking lazy and bored. Perfect, she thought. She'd much rather unleash her mood on them than her Gran. Knowing them, they probably deserved it.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat drug in...." Tom smirked as she approached the steps.

"Thought you must've fallen down a well or something," laughed Geoff.

Stephen alone stood up and smiled at her approach, like he was the slightest bit happy to see her again. She had not seen nor spoken to any of them since the last day of school.

"What happened to you?" he asked, in an accusatory tone of voice.

Annie shrugged. She was unsure if he was referring to her arm or her absence. Either way, she had no intention of discussing her summer with this lot. "Been busy. Had an accident."

"Obviously," he said, bristling at the brush off. "Did you fall or something, clumsy git?"

"What do you care?" she asked him defensively.

"I don't," he exclaimed, perhaps a tad too vehemently.

Geoff narrowed his eyes, as if puzzled by it as well.

"Then why d'you ask?" Annie cried. She began to think maybe she should've gone somewhere else, after all.

"Jesus, you're touchy!" Stephen complained and turned away, dropping the conversation for the moment as he sat back down on the stoop.

Tom wasn't done antagonizing Annie yet, however. She had always been a thorn in his side, ever since he had been unsuccessful in asserting his dominance over her that first day they had met. "On the rag or something?" he jeered, looking to get a rise out of her as well as placate his leader.

Annie froze for a moment, stunned by the rude vulgarity of the comment. Point of fact, she actually was menstruating, for only the third time in her life. She looked at Tom, searching for a clue as to what had brought on the unprovoked attack. All she saw was the most revolting smirk on his face.

She glanced at Stephen, who was watching her with an amused smile of his own, anticipating what punishment might be in store for Tom. She felt a flare of resentment toward him, the way he enjoyed pitting his friends against one another. She suspected that was the only reason Stephen sometimes gave her preferential treatment; never to the point of sticking up for her, of course - only enough to stir up resentment against her amongst the rest of the herd. She asked herself for the hundredth time why she put up with this bullshit from them, then deflated slightly as she answered herself: because my real friends are gone.

Still, it made her blood boil that Tom expected he could get away with comments like that. Annie casually took a few steps over to where he was standing. "What did you say?" she asked softly, daring him to repeat it.

"You heard me," Tom replied, daring her to retaliate. She was one-armed, after all... he had finally caught her with a distinct advantage in his favor. He was clearly expecting a verbal retort, despite the fact he had spent so much time in her company last year.

Slow learner, Tom, she thought. With her good hand, and with lightening quickness, she slapped the smirk right off his face. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again," she said, maintaining a soft, calm tone of voice, completely belying the indignant rage inside.

Tom took a second to recover himself, then scrambled upright. He loomed over Annie, glowering at her. "You little..." he snarled, clenching his fists.

Annie glared right back into his eyes, planting her feet, refusing to back down.

"Tom!" barked Stephen. He had gotten up off the stoop, and moved to stand between the two of them, with his back to Annie and facing the threatening boy. "Leave her alone," he warned him.

"Is that how it is?" he asked. "She's your little pet now?" With narrowed eyes, Tom snickered condescendingly.

Stephen shrugged nonchalantly.

"The hell I am!" cried Annie angrily. She struggled to push Stephen out of the way. She could have done it, too, she reckoned, if she'd only had two good arms.

Tom sneered, recognizing Stephen had just handed him a weapon to use against her. "Forget it," he said dismissively, taking several steps backward down the street. "Since you're just going to hide behind your boyfriend...."

Annie moved to follow Tom down the street. "I'm not hiding behind anything!" she shouted. But Stephen had shifted also, standing between her and her quarry. He had puffed himself up as well, as if he was trying to encourage them all to think... what? That he was her protector? She damn well didn't need one, if that's what he thought!

"Get out of my way!" she yelled at Stephen, attempting to dart around him. "Hey, Tom..." she called out as she dashed ahead of Stephen, taking quick steps to catch up with the retreating boy.

Just as Tom paused and turned around to face her once more, Stephen grabbed her around the waist from behind, jerking her backward. She writhed and fought to escape, but it was no use. Tom laughed derisively at her, then turned again and jogged away.

"Get your hands off of me now!" she yelled, squirming and clawing at him with her good hand.

After a moment's pause, Stephen complied. She spun around to unleash her fury on him.

"Keep your goddamn nose out of it!" she cried. "I don't need you to stick up for me! You never have before!"

Stephen rolled his eyes. "You were about to get your ass kicked, sweetheart."

Annie snorted. "By Tom? I can more than handle anything he can dish out. Even with one hand tied behind my back," she yelled, brandishing her cast.

Stephen smiled and shook his head. "You must think you're about a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than you actually are, dumbass."

Annie attempted unsuccessfully to fold her arms across her chest in a huff. Damn bloody cast, she growled to herself. Instead she sat down on the stoop and glared at Stephen for the next ten minutes, grinding her teeth. He didn't help matters by occasionally chuckling at her, rolling his eyes, and constantly smirking.

She happened to glance over at Geoff. He was looking at her strangely, as if he had just figured something out about her.

"What?" she demanded, testily.

"Nothing," he answered, but the look didn't go away.

Annie continued to stare back at him, strongly suspecting he was lying to her.

He nervously looked over at Stephen, then down at the ground. "I should probably get going... catch you lot later," he said, awkwardly.

As Geoff was walking down the street, Stephen sat down next to Annie. She was beginning to smell a rat, and the stink got worse the closer Stephen got.

Something occurred to Annie in that moment. "Why did Tom call you my boyfriend?" she asked him.

Stephen shrugged. "Who knows?" he replied, then looked away. "He's an idiot."

"Right," said Annie dubiously, unconvinced.

*

September 2, 1991

Dear Annie,

Where were you? We went to the fort for three days in a row before we left, and you weren't there. What's wrong? Are you okay? Did you get sick again?

Here's a bit of news: we met Harry Potter on the train to school, and he got Sorted into Gryffindor! He's sort of a famous kid - legend says he battled another famous wizard when he was a baby, and won! He seems to be mates with our little brother Ron, who also Sorted into Gryffindor last night.

Our friend Lee brought a wicked cool giant tarantula to school this year. It's living under his bed in our dorm... bet no one messes with our room this year!

Write back soon - we're worried about you.

Love,

George & Fred

*

September 10, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Thanks for asking. I'm okay... just felt a little under the weather for a while. Feeling better now, anyway.

Tell me more about this Harry Potter: how does a baby fight with another wizard if he doesn't have a wand yet? That doesn't make any sense. What kind of world do you live in making babies fight against each other?

Just how big is this giant tarantula? The ones I've seen are about as big as a hand. Anyway, I thought pets there were limited to rats, toads and owls.

Sorry I missed saying goodbye to you lot. I'll miss you both! Have a good year! Now punch each other in the shoulder from me. And don't wuss out and make them soft.

Love you more,

Annie

*

October 1, 1991

Dear Annie,

Exciting news! Harry has joined our team as seeker! Which is kind of a big deal - he's the youngest seeker here in a century. Not that there's any competition for the spot since Charlie left last year... lucky bloke gets to study dragons in Romania this year, remember? Anyway, back to Harry: he's damn good. Wood wants to keep him a secret (too late of course, everyone knows) and we've been practicing like mad. Maybe, just maybe, we might win this year. On purpose, even! The real test will be Slytherin on November 9.

Glad to hear you're okay. Like I said before, we were worried. Fred wanted to sneak over and break in to your house to check on you before we left. He was convinced you were being imprisoned by your Gran again and required liberating. I was barely able to talk him out of it. Thought that might have been a bit difficult for you to explain away to her... you're welcome!

Love,

George & Fred

*

October 14, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Congrats on fielding a decent team, we all hope for the best. Please be careful around those bludgers... I imagine they could do some damage.

Have you heard anything from Charlie? Working with dragons must be pretty cool. Is it like a zoo or something, in Romania where he is working?

Thanks for not coming over... I'm in enough trouble lately and don't need your help to find more. School is cracking down hard on me this year. Palmer the Prick has informed my Gran that my grades are so poor, unless I get a tutor AND stop causing trouble (roll eyes here) I will be politely asked not to return after first term is over.

You can imagine how I wanted to respond to that - fine by me! I'm sure I've got better things to do with my time! K.M.A.!

But Gran is another thing entirely... she's pretty upset about the whole business. She doesn't deserve all this rain of crap I'm bringing down on us. So yours truly gets to suck it up and begin tutoring sessions twice a week after school.

I hope I don't get stuck with a Percy, but what hope do I have? Pray for me, that I don't snap and go mental on this poor git they're going to assign to me.

Love you more,

Annie

*

Annie sat at the kitchen table, nervously picking at a sheet of notebook paper, pruning off the ragged edge bit by bit. She seemed nice enough when she rang to arrange to meet, Annie mused. But it was hard to read a person accurately over the phone, she reminded herself. Best not to have high hopes.

Jane Moruki had phoned yesterday afternoon, introducing herself as Annie's school-appointed tutor. Annie was stuck with her, she feared, no matter what. Working with Annie was to be Jane's community service project this year, and Annie knew she was in no position to refuse her: Jane was free as well as mandatory. Ugh, how humiliating, she thought. Annie hated being backed into a corner like this.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to shake off the pessimistic turn her thoughts were taking. Even though life in general had taught her to prepare for the worst when dealing with the citizenry of Pottery St. Butthole - and she smiled recalling the nickname Fred and George had given this place - it served no good purpose to have a bad attitude before the girl had even arrived. Annie didn't want to be guilty of the same nasty habit as the rest of this miserable town, she reminded herself.

After all, Jane was new here this year, and already had the reputation for being a star student. She was pretty and popular even though, or maybe because, she'd only lived here a little more than two months. Maybe because this place hadn't contaminated her soul yet, Annie mused sarcastically.

Yikes, Annie cried silently. She was shocked by the dark depth of that last thought. Did she really think her neighbors and school mates were evil? Cruel and ignorant? Yes. Malicious? Maybe some of them.

She was saved from dissecting the idea further by the doorbell.

Annie heard her Gran answer the door and greet the new girl. She could detect no accent in her voice, no clue to where she'd grown up or been since, other than not here. She was perfectly polite to her Gran - and a perfect mystery to Annie. She had to admit her curiosity was piqued.

"Annie, Jane's here," Gran explained unnecessarily as she ushered their guest into the kitchen. "You're both welcome to anything you like to eat or drink. I'll just be out in the garden, if you need anything...."

Annie smiled tentatively at the tall, beautiful girl who had taken a seat at the table next to her. "Can I get you something?" she asked her politely. No harm in being civil, after all.

"No thanks," Jane replied with a friendly smile of her own. "Your grandmother is sweet. I like her," she declared.

Annie nodded in agreement, immediately warming to this newcomer. Anyone who liked Gran couldn't be completely bad, she reckoned. To her delighted surprise, Jane seemed warm and genuine - traits in short supply at school, as far as Annie had found.

"So, Annie Jones... what am I doing here?" Jane asked pointedly, but not in an unfriendly way. Almost like she was teasing. But this was the friendly sort of teasing - the kind she enjoyed, like Fred and George would do. She propped her chin in her hand and gazed at Annie with curiosity.

"Beg pardon?" asked Annie, perplexed.

"You're not stupid, that much is obvious. You ask clever questions, and give decent answers. I've seen you in Stratford's class, remember?"

"Oh, right." Annie had seen the older girl her in the science class, working quietly in a corner by herself. "What is it you're doing in there, anyway?"

"Independent study project," she said, waving her hand dismissively, as if her impressive accomplishment wasn't important at the moment. "I don't get it - you clearly understand the material, better than a lot of the dunderheads in there with you, I'll wager. How is it you can be failing this class?"

Annie blushed with the compliments. She had asked herself the same question quite often lately. "I dunno, really."

"Do you have trouble with taking exams? Do you get all anxious or something?" Jane asked with concern.

"No," replied Annie, shaking her head. Exams were one thing that never really bothered Annie at school. Nearly everything else, on the other hand....

"May I see your last exam?" Jane asked, holding out her hand expectantly.

"Sure," said Annie, digging it out of a folder and handing it over.

Jane spent several minutes perusing Annie's last train wreck of an exam. She began shaking her head slightly, pursing her lips. She then flipped to the essay section and began reading what Annie had written. "What an idiot..." she mumbled.

Annie sighed dejectedly. Maybe Jane had been wrong about her, and no longer thought she was so clever after all.

"Oh no, I didn't mean you, Annie!" Jane rushed to explain, noticing her quiet sigh. "This is the most poorly written test I've ever seen. With any decent professor, you could argue for at least partial credit for every question you got wrong. And your writing style is clear and concise. But Stratford's such an ass!" She rolled her eyes.

Annie's mouth dropped open. Jane had just echoed her thoughts about the test exactly. A fifth year honor student was telling her she was right, and the professor was wrong!

"Look, if you want my advice..." she offered.

Annie nodded eagerly, keenly interested in what Jane would have to say.

"You don't need my help with the material, that's obvious. But you since you have to do your penance anyway..."

What an interesting choice of words, Annie thought. She had viewed the tutoring sessions as a sort of punishment herself. She smirked and nodded again in understanding.

"And I need this volunteer tutoring assignment for my service requirement, why don't we make the best of it? Plus, I like you, Annie Jones," she added with a smile and a wink. "So how about this: I'll keep coming here twice a week, but instead of wasting time reviewing what you already understand, I'll teach you the fine art of academic bullshitting. That's probably the only skill you're lacking at this point, frankly. But I'll be honest with you - it won't look good for either of us if you continue to balls-up the exams, so you have to promise me you'll try to do better. Do we have a deal?"

Annie nodded and smiled. She was really starting to like this girl and her no-nonsense approach. "What do you mean, 'the art of academic bullshitting?'" she asked.

Jane laughed. "A little trick my mother taught me," she explained. "Here, look... take this question you missed, for instance. It was a trick...."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Annie.

Jane nodded. "And you fell for it," she chided. "The answer you gave isn't technically wrong - in fact it would be perfectly acceptable in most other classes."

"So why did I get it wrong?" Annie interrupted with a whine.

"It's all in the wording. Take a look at B," she instructed.

Annie re-read the multiple choice answer. "It says the same thing as D, really," she argued.

"I know," Jane agreed. "But B contains one of Stratford's favorite pet phrases, see? I'll bet you even have it written in your notes, he repeats it so often. That's why B is the right answer, in this situation...."

"But that's bullshit! They're both right!" Annie argued.

"That's exactly my point," explained Jane.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Why should I kiss his ass for a grade?" she cried. It infuriated Annie to encounter unfair people and practices, and she never resisted a chance to call them out on it, the bloody hypocrites!

"And there's your problem, right there. You have to ask yourself, Annie, if it's really worth it," Jane said in a kind voice.

"Huh?"

"Is it worth your time and effort, all this pain and suffering, to argue with a great gasbag of an idiot like Stratford, who'll never change anyway? Yes, you're right about the answer on the exam, and you're right that he's a prick. But what good does it do to beat your head against a brick wall?"

"So everyone should just let him get away with being a pompous jerk?" Annie asked in disbelief.

Jane shrugged.

"Some things are worth fighting for!" Annie cried. "When I see something that's... that's bullshit... then I'm bloody well going to say something about it! He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it!" she reiterated.

"You're absolutely right, Annie. Some things are important enough that one must never be willing to compromise. Other things, however... like a third-rate science teacher stuck teaching thirteen-year-olds in a dead-end job in a backwater of Devon - no offense intended - just aren't," argued Jane.

"So you're saying I should just play the game," Annie replied, disgusted by the suggestion.

Jane shrugged once more. "Do what's right for you, Annie. But bear in mind that Stratford's a jerk who gets off on lording himself over students with no power to do anything about it. By taking the bait, you not only hobble yourself by giving him a chance to hurt you with a poor mark, you're giving him an ego boost as well by offering the challenge in the first place. I think of it more as choosing not to play the game."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of it that way before," Annie said, truly intrigued by the Jane's way of looking at the situation.

"Don't give the assholes of the world so much power over you, Annie," she said gently. "Don't let them stand in the way of doing something with your life, of getting the hell out of here. You want to go to university, right?"

Annie shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it much. Gran wants me to go, but I'm not sure. I'm not really the school-type."

"Well, what is it you want to do with your life, then?" Jane sounded genuinely interested, again a surprise to Annie. "You don't strike me as the type who plans to hitch herself to one of these idiots here at school. Surely you've got more ambition - not to mention self-respect - than that?"

"Good God, no! Regardless of what you might have heard about me, I have absolutely zero interest in any of the boys in this town!" she exclaimed. Just because all her friends, and she used the term loosely in reference to Stephen and his herd, were boys, all the rest of the students at school assumed Annie was... well... that she had very loose morals, to put it politely. Rumors about her had been circulating like wildfire lately. She might not understand every one of the fresh comments she was had been hearing at school, but that didn't stop her from shutting the mouths that uttered them.

"Good! And for your information, I never listen to idle gossip. I mean, consider the source!" Jane exclaimed, rolling her eyes for effect.

Annie beamed an enormous grin at Jane. She was an angel - that much was clear - sent to Annie in her darkest hour, for this term had been turning into exactly that. Here was a smart, decent, friendly young woman, two years ahead of Annie at school, who was willing to see past all the meaningless crap the rest of the people in this town weren't, and give her a chance to be herself. And she lived here year round! How could Annie be so lucky?

"Are you sure you don't want a biscuit or something?" Annie chuckled, delighted with the sudden change in her fortune.

"Okay, if you have one, too," Jane said with a smile. "And then it's back to work. We'll go over this exam for starters and study where you went wrong. I promise with my help, you'll do better next time!"

*

November 9, 1991

Dear Annie,

Lots of news, but first - how are things going with your very own personal Percy? How did it get to this point, without us knowing about it? You've never been anything but dead clever in our opinion (but don't get a big head about it), so what gives? There must be something more to it you're not telling us...

Back to more thrilling stuff: there was a mountain troll loose at Hogwarts on Halloween! Remember reading about those? Anyway, our idiot brother Ron and his friend Harry somehow rescued a little first year twit from being flattened by it. I'm still not sure I believe half the story Ron tells, but something spectacular happened, that's for sure. I'm starting to suspect something fishy is going on here this year...

Oh, and did I mention WE WON THE FLIPPING MATCH! It was effing brilliant! Harry caught the snitch in his mouth! Despite the fact that someone sabotaged his broom during the match and he nearly fell off to his death (more evidence of the fishiness I mentioned previously). I only wish that I had more opportunities for bashing in Slytherin heads to look forward to. And as it's the first match of the year, we stand alone in first place for the Cup!

Write back soon with your report regarding the tutor! And don't do anything we wouldn't do!

Love,

George & Fred

P.S. It's a Romanian dragon reservation, not a zoo. Dragons aren't really fit for cages. The flaming breath, you see.

*

December 1, 1991

Dear Fred & George,

Congratulations on the win! I'm sure it was all down to the excellent play of the Gryffindor beaters! Rah Rah Rah!

Things are going well here. Jane - that's my tutor - turned out to be a really nice girl. And she's helping me loads. I never realized how much more there is to learn at school than books and exams. We've even gone out to the movies together once. Finally, I've got a friend that Gran knows about and approves of to boot! But don't worry - you two are still my favorites! No one could replace you two gits in my heart!

How are your new classes going? Do you get to work with any cool creatures? And what do you learn about in Muggle Studies? Is it as easy as you thought it would be?

In case I don't write again before Christmas, hope yours is happy!

Love you more,

Annie

*

December 26, 1991

Dear Annie,

Well now, don't you sound chipper! It's good to hear you cheerful again! Glad to hear things have worked out well with the tutoring business... although your raving attitude toward such a star student leaves us strongly suspicious that you've turned into a massive prat. Send us proof you haven't.

Magical Creatures with Kettleburn is pretty cool. We studied unicorns for a good bit this fall. You would've liked it better than we did. They don't care much for boys, see. And it's hard to pay attention- we'd much rather be exploring the Forest on our own instead. It's way better than the one we have at home...

Muggle Studies is a complete joke. We strongly suspect most of Burbage's information is wrong or out of date at the very least. I mean, she's been telling us about Muggle medicine this term, and most of what she described was either laughably backward or downright barbaric. Does it really take two months for muggle bones to heal? In a plaster tube? I'm betting Fred it's crap, so please write back soon (money's at stake).

Love,

George & Fred

*

January 13, 1992

Dear Fred & George,

Happy New Year! Gran let me spend the night at Jane's on New Year's Eve and we had a ball watching movies and sipping champagne (have you ever had any?). Good news: my grades have improved and Gran is now thrilled with me. So much so that I now have a curfew of 9 p.m. even on school nights!

Now, I have had to be careful not to ruin my good fortune with Gran, but I did manage a little stunt. You see, I've been burning with a desire to avenge myself on the git of a professor that landed me in so much trouble last term. Although in retrospect, meeting Jane was one of the luckier moments in my life, so in actuality I am an ungrateful little shit for doing this. However, said professor is an unmitigated jerk, so I spare no energy on feeling remorse for his sake.

This fellow has a curious habit of displaying a family of odd-looking scarecrows in his front yard. It makes no sense whatsoever, so don't ask me why. Anyway, as you can see by the series of snaps enclosed, I've got a habit of re-arranging them under cover of night once a week or so. They are naughty little scarecrows, no? The most amazing thing is why the bloody fool hasn't put them away by now! I think he secretly enjoys waking up in the morning and catching those shameful things in their latest scandalous pose.

As for muggle medicine, it seems perfectly fine to me. Not that I've had much experience with it, you understand. Why exactly are you asking me about broken bones, anyway? Yes, a clean break would be set in a cast and takes 6-8 weeks to heal, so I've heard. Sorry, George, but you lose this time.

Love you more,

Annie

*

February 1, 1992

Dear Annie,

Well done you! We busted a gut laughing at those snaps. Fred has them mounted on the wall in our dorm room. Lee and Ken send you cheers, as well!

And thanks for losing me the bet, prat! I can't imagine clunking around in a cast for such a ridiculous amount of time. Every time I break a bone (I think I'm up to an even dozen now), it's just a quick dose of Skele-Gro and everything's hunky-dory in the morning. Okay, in point of fact it is pretty painful, but there's sleeping draught too, so who cares?

Next week is our second 'legal' trip into Hogsmeade. It's not nearly as much fun that way, we've found. We might not even bother with going. The village is far more interesting after dark... and anyway, Wood's been killing us lately with so much extra quidditch practice that I'd rather just sleep. He's gone a bit off, if you ask me. I mean, it's only a game, after all.

A word of warning: we've got quite big plans for your upcoming birthday!

Love,

George & Fred

*

February 13, 1992

Dear Fred & George,

Glad you enjoyed the snaps. The silly git finally put the things away, under pressure from the neighbors I suspect, so my fun is over.

Skele-Gro and sleeping potion, huh? Typical wizard response to a health crisis: brew up a kettle of poison and bottom's up! Must be nice...

And what has happened to the quidditch obsessed Weasley twins? Since when is quidditch 'only a game?' Have you recently taken a bludger to the head?

Yes, my periodically non-existent birthday is rapidly approaching. I am sick of being thirteen, that's for sure. I certainly hope fourteen treats me better! Gran says I can invite Jane to sleep over that night - my first slumber party at our house! Squee! Aren't you jealous? Seriously though, I suspect that you two would like Jane as well. She's got a pretty good sense of humor, for an honor student that is. Can't seem to convince her to join me in any hijinks, though.

Best of luck against the Puffers!

Love you more,

Annie

*

March 1, 1992

Dear Annie,

Happy birthday! Please refer to the enclosed snap for your gift. You are now the one and only muggle proudly memorialized in the Hogwarts seventh floor boys' toilet! Fourth stall from the left. You can see what an emotional moment it was for us. Truly moving. We originally planned on posting you the seat, but I convinced Fred that Errol would have perished en route.

More good news: WE WON ANOTHER MATCH! Harry came through again, catching the snitch a mere five minutes into the game, bless him! And not a moment too soon - Snape refereed, can you believe our luck? He clearly had it out for us and would have surely thrown the game away if it had lasted very long at all. But now we are first in line for the Cup at 2-0!

Yet another update: there is something afoot here in the castle. That sneaky little rat of our brother just happened to let it slip that he and his sneaky little rat-mates discovered the reason why the third floor corridor is off limits this year way back in September! Apparently there is a hellhound guarding something hidden behind a trapdoor. I have to admit I'm a bit impressed with the little shit not only for finding the damn thing, but for keeping it quiet for this long as well. Bloody irresponsible of Dumbledore to keep a hellhound in a school, regardless. One more example of why we respect him so much!

Love,

George & Fred

*

Annie crouched down behind the car as Geoff picked the locked driver's side door open. "Why don't you just nick your mum's keys?" she whispered.

"Where's the thrill in that?" he retorted. "Anyway, she's out with her boyfriend tonight, so there're no keys to be stolen, are there?" Geoff yanked the door open and waved her inside.

Annie gave him a half-smile as she scooted into the front passenger seat, keeping her hood low around her face. She knew she looked far too small and young to be old enough to drive, whereas Geoff was quite a bit taller, so he got the honors. He had been too chicken-shit to do it alone, though, so that explained her presence. If he got in trouble, he'd be taking her down with him, she was sure of that. That was, of course, if he didn't flat-out hang her out to dry in his stead.

They drove straight to Stephen's house to pick up the rest of the gang. Once there, Mike made her give up the front seat, claiming his long legs couldn't fit anywhere else, and forced her into the back seat with Stephen. She thought she caught a wink exchanged between them, but couldn't be sure - Mike was a blinker, almost to the point of it being a facial tic.

As they drove to a nearby town in search of adventure, Stephen was quite chatty with her. "I'm glad you came out with us tonight. You should join us more often."

"I'm usually busy," she explained, happy that she didn't even need to lie much. Between study sessions with Jane, her weekly shooting lessons at the firing range which she looked forward to as the high point of her week, and taking care of all the housework for Gran, she had very little free time. Still, it was nice to be out tonight - even with these idiots for company - letting off a bit of steam for once.

Jane was a great friend, but she didn't have much of a sense of adventure. "Too risky," she had explained, shaking her head when Annie had once asked her to participate.

Annie had nodded eagerly in agreement. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Come on, live a little!" she urged in vain.

"That scarecrow business at Stratford's house was excellent," Stephen continued. "I knew it had to be you that did it! You're still the same old Annie, even though you're pretending to be a star student all the sudden. You don't fool me, you know."

She snorted derisively at his presumption. "You think you know me that well?"

"I bet I know you better than you think I do," he argued. "I know you're bored stiff hanging out with that swot all the time."

"You're not nearly as clever as you think you are," she laughed. But he did have a point: she missed having an outlet for mischief. As wonderful as Jane was, Annie sometimes felt almost caged in her presence.

To Annie's disappointment, Geoff pulled up in front of a liquor store. All the adventures this lot ever wanted to have anymore involved booze, she lamented. She had no real interest in the stuff. Not that she didn't enjoy a bit now and then- she just didn't approve of the volume of consumption they considered a prerequisite to a good time. Nor did she appreciate the method by which they counted on scoring it.

"C'mon, Annie. Time to get to work!" encouraged Geoff.

"Yeah, Annie. Make yourself useful," Mike urged. "There's a likely sod right there. Looks a bit hard up - oughta be easy enough for you."

"Sod off, every last one of you. I'm not doing it anymore," she snapped, refusing to budge.

"Forget it, boys - she's a good girl now," Stephen taunted in response to her scowl. "Too good for the likes of us. You stay here then, Annie, and we'll take care of this...."

The three boys looked pointedly at each other, and slowly turned to open their doors.

Annie was startled and a bit pleased at the fact they gave in so easily. She turned to get out of the car as well - she didn't want to be left behind if they were all participating. Maybe they were finally starting to respect her after all?

She shut the door behind her and stepped out onto the street. As she turned to walk toward the curb, she heard all three other doors shut at once, then heard the click of the door locks. Three smugly smiling prats were waving at her from within.

Annie took a deep breath. The anger she felt building inside was not directed toward the moronic, manipulative jerks in the car. It was for her own idiotic notion that they would ever give a damn about her. That they would ever see her as an equal. Talk about beating my head against a brick wall....

She began to think maybe she wanted a drink after all as she marched over to the store entrance. A good stiff belt might help improve her mood. She looked up at her quarry. He looks the part, she thought to herself. Well greased, a bit scruffy, already leering. She smiled at him half-heartedly.

"Hello, dearie," he said, slurring his words.

"Hey. Mind buying some for my mates and me?" she asked awkwardly.

The drunk shrugged. "What's in it for me?"

"We'll pay you. You can keep the change," she offered.

He harrumphed but took her money and went inside the store. About ten minutes later, he came shuffling back out of the store carrying a large bottle.

Annie stepped up to him with her hand out. "Thanks, mate," she mumbled.

"There wasn't any change," he said, grabbing her hand instead of handing over the liquor. "You still owe me..." he growled as he pulled her toward him.

Annie struggled to resist, but found him to be a stronger drunk than she expected. His grip was tight and beginning to hurt her wrist. And she was being inexorably pulled toward an alley behind the shop.

"Let go of me!" she demanded, digging her heels into the pavement and yanking backwards. Pain shot through her arm as she felt as if she had nearly dislocated her shoulder, but was still caught in the steel trap of the pervert's grip.

He laughed darkly at her. "Quit struggling. I might drop the bottle. Your mates won't like it if you come back empty-handed."

"Hey! Get your hands off her, asshole! She's mine," she heard Stephen's voice from behind her. "Give her the bottle and get lost!"

She turned to glance toward the car, noting Stephen was marching quickly toward them. About effing time, she thought, heart racing.

"Or what?" the drunk snarled.

"Or the three of us are gonna kick your sorry ass!" he shouted.

The man squinted in Stephen's direction, sizing up the threat. Annie felt his grip begin to loosen, and took advantage of it, darting out of arm's reach and finally succeeding in escaping him.

"Let's kick his ass anyway, mate," offered Geoff, who was only standing half-way out of the car. Mike was still fully inside. The bloody cowards, she thought.

Annie snatched the bottle from her attacker. She was tempted to break it over the drunk's head, but Stephen relieved her of the precious booty from her before she had the chance. He grabbed her arm as well and pulled her back toward their car.

"Let's go, mates," he said as he opened the rear door for her. "We got what we wanted. No harm done...."

Annie stood before the open door, looking at Stephen incredulously. Her wrist, elbow and shoulder were throbbing from the fight to get away from that creep. Not to mention her hands were shaking from the adrenaline still pumping through her system. No harm done!?

Stephen pushed her into the back seat, holding her head down like she was a criminal being taking into custody. He must have recognized the look on her face, and steeled himself for the imminent attack. "Here, have a snort," he said, offering her the bottle first in an effort to stave it off. "You earned it."

She took the bottle from him, struggling to master the urge to deck him. He's not worth it.... None of them are worth it... she continually chanted silently in her head as she took a long pull. The alcohol burned her throat and empty stomach, but it was a preferable sensation to the combination of fury and self-loathing that was there already. Not worth getting all riled up. What did you expect, anyway?

She turned to Stephen, who had taken the bottle back from her and was tossing back a swig himself. "What the hell did you mean back there, when you said, 'she's mine'?" she asked him angrily, ignoring her own advice.

Stephen snorted, almost choking on the swallow. "I just saved your ass back there, sweetheart, and you wanna bitch at me about semantics?" he cried.

"Excuse me!?" she asked, dumbfounded. He was the reason her ass had been on the line in the first place, she reckoned. Did he really fancy himself a hero?

"Look, can we discuss this later?" he asked her, looking pointedly at Geoff and Mike in the front seat.

Annie reluctantly let the argument drop for the time being. In point of fact she didn't care for squabbling in front of an audience either, especially one that never sided with her anyway. She folded her arms across her chest and sat in silence for the duration of the short ride home, arm aching.

They pulled up to Geoff's house and snuck the booze into the garage, hoping that his mum would be none the wiser when she got home later that night. The fellows continued passing the bottle between them, but Annie was no longer interested and shook off the offer.

"What's the matter with you, now? You're not still on about that harmless old drunk, are you? Loosen up, why don't you?" chided Mike, blinking and holding the bottle out to her.

"Oh, the peer pressure is tearing me apart," she exclaimed mockingly. "I do so want to fit in with your herd of pathetic sheep!" she taunted with a derogatory smile. They laughed like she had just made a particularly funny remark. Were they really so ignorant that they mistook an insult for a joke? she wondered.

Impatiently she grabbed Stephen's arm and began to drag him away from his admirers. "C'mon, let's finish what we started in the car..." she muttered. As they stepped outside, she heard knowing chuckles, and glimpsed Stephen smiling and winking at the other boys.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded angrily as the door shut behind them.

"What? Nothing, I swear!" he exclaimed defensively. He took her by the arm and began to pull her around toward the back of the garage.

"What's wrong with right here?" she asked, resisting him.

"You want them to see and hear us?" he retorted, knowing what her answer would be.

"Fine." Once they were out of sight of the door, she refused to go any further. "We need to talk," she started.

Stephen released her and leaned against the wall of the garage. "Okay. Talk, then."

"Why is it everyone thinks there's something going on between us?" she demanded.

Stephen shrugged, unable to fully quash a smug smile.

He was lying, that was patently obvious. Annie fumed in frustration, but swallowed her anger and put her calmest metaphorical foot forward. "Please, just be a decent human being for a change, instead of a massive git," she begged him.

Stephen's response was to smirk and reach out for her.

Annie's temper flared. Enraged, she swatted his hands away, She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, shoving him against the wall with a loud thump.

Stephen's smile grew even bigger. "You are sorta cute when you're pissed off," he teased her, wrapping his large hands over her much smaller fists.

Annie screeched in exasperation, letting go of him and stepping back away, out of reach. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as if she had a throbbing headache.

"Okay, already," he offered, giving in. "Look, it's not my fault. I didn't start the rumor. I think it started last fall, when you pissed off Tom," he explained.

"So you're telling me Tom's been spreading these lies about me? For revenge? Because I slapped him?" she asked in disbelief.

"Well, maybe not just that. I think he's a bit jealous of you and me," he replied.

Annie stared at him in shock.

"Of our friendship," he added hastily.

Annie shook her head slowly. How could anyone be jealous of what passed for friendship with Stephen? What was there to be envious of? That couldn't be the whole story....

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me? I told you already I didn't start it!"

"You obviously knew about the rumor, as well as who was responsible for it. Did you ever do anything to stop him?"

Stephen shrugged. "In my experience, the best thing to do is ignore something like this. It'll all blow over after a while..."

"It's been more than six months. I don't think your strategy is working," she snapped.

"What can I do?" he asked, feigning helplessness.

"Start denying it!" she cried vehemently. "Start telling people there's nothing happening between you and me! Please!"

"Why do you care what other people think, anyway? I thought you were above all that?" he chided her.

"Because it's not true, and it's getting out of hand! Stephen, people think... people are saying that we... have done it," she mumbled uncomfortably.

"Really?" he asked, sounding surprised and rather pleased.

"You idiot!" she hissed, barely controlling the urge to punch him in the face. "If this ever got back to my Gran, it would... it would break her heart! If you won't do it for me, as a friend, then please do it for her. She doesn't deserve this!" she pleaded, her eyes searching his face for some shred of chivalry.

Stephen looked at her with some stirring of pity. She loves that old lady, for whatever reason, he mused. And he had never really meant to hurt Annie by encouraging the rumor - both its creation last summer and its persistence throughout the school year. He hadn't thought much beyond himself, to be honest.

And he could see now that it had hurt Annie. Her reputation had been falsely ruined all because he thought it would reflect positively on his own. It was the paradoxical double-standard of modern sexual mores: a promiscuous girl was a whore, but a promiscuous boy was a chap to be admired. And what had he gotten for his trouble? Far from bringing her within reach, it had driven her further away from him.

"I'll see what I can do," he offered reluctantly.

"Thank you," she replied tersely. "I would certainly appreciate whatever effort you can spare," she added sarcastically.

Stephen bristled at her smart attitude. He had liked it much better when she was pleading with him a moment ago. He was already starting to regret offering to help her out. Maybe it would be too little, too late anyway.

"You wanna go back in?" he asked.

"Not really. I think I'll just go home," she said. He could tell she was still pissed off, but was cooling down all the same, now that he had promised her what she wanted. Maybe he might still have some leverage.... Maybe out of gratitude, she might....

"C'mon, I'll drive you," he offered, taking her hand. It was dark, and she shouldn't be walking alone he reckoned, even if it was a short way to her house. Not to mention it would make him feel better about himself to play the valiant protector.

"Okay," she agreed somewhat reluctantly. It was starting to mist, after all, and she shivered a bit.

He led her around the garage again, poking his head in the door to let the others know he was taking Annie home, and that he'd be back soon.

"Sure, mate," slurred Geoff, well into the bottle by now. "I read you loud and clear...."

Annie heard Mike guffaw in the background. "Things were gettin' a bit rough out there, were they?" he taunted.

Stephen chuckled in response. Annie yanked her hand out of his and gave his shoulder a shove, knocking him into the doorframe. "Er, no. It's not like that. You guys know Annie's not like that," he argued weakly. "I'll be back in ten minutes, tops. So save some o' that bottle for me, you sods."

He turned around to see Annie glaring daggers at him, arms crossed, chin jutting out. "I changed my mind. I think I will walk after all. You stay here, with your mates," she spat, turning away.

"Annie, don't be mad..." he said, taking a step after her.

She had turned her back and started running now. He knew there was no chance to catch up - she could easily beat every one of them in a foot race, and had proven it time after time. Disappointed, he turned back to the garage.

"Thanks a lot, you sorry gits," he greeted them gruffly.

"Woman troubles, mate?" laughed Mike. "Can't live with 'em, can leave 'em by the side of the road...."

"Come and drown your sorrows with us!" cried Geoff, patting the seat beside him.

*

April 1, 1992

Dear Fred & George,

Happy birthday, yourselves! The photo was quite amusing, I admit. Thank you very much for my very own toilet, even though I will never get to see it. It's certainly a gift that keeps on giving, isn't it?

Speaking of birthday presents, here are yours. This stuff is called plastic wrap; I'm sending you each your own roll. It's one of the most useful things in a muggle prankster's tool kit. It clings to porcelain, metal, and glass (and itself which is rather frustrating at times, you'll find). You can make practically invisible barriers with it. Try it on doorways, toilet seats, and the like. I promise you will enjoy the results.

Here's something you'll appreciate: Gran says now that I'm fourteen, it's time for me to learn some self-defense (snort!). She's sending me to the firing range to learn to shoot my grandfather's old RAF pistol!!! So far I've gone three times and let me tell you it is frigging awesome!!! I don't know how we'll work it out, but you two simply have to try it!!!

Congratulations on your second win of the season. And, since you apparently have access to a camera now, could you send a photo of the hellhound? Sounds quite interesting.

Love you more,

Annie

*

May 13, 1992

Dear Annie,

Let me get this straight. You want me to take a snap of a gigantic, ferocious three-headed dog? Are you mental? I grant you I'm a sucker for a dare, but I also have a strong self-preservation streak. So forget it.

The plastic film is magnificent! Any way we can get some more? We'll be glad to pay you - name your price!

You've finally done it now: Fred and I are properly afraid of you at last. The thought of you packing heat when your temper turns has given the house elves here a nasty job with our laundry. I can't believe anyone was stupid enough to put a deadly weapon in your hands. What has the world come to?

Ron has proven to be quite the pain in the ass this year. Remember Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper we told you about? He's a bit of a nutter when it comes to magical beasts. Well, Ron and his mates quite idolize the fellow and spend loads of time visiting him. Anyway, the idiot got a hold of a dragon egg apparently, which hatched and somehow bit Ron, who wound up in hospital with a poisoned and infected hand. Bloody git! Now Mum is having a hissy fit because Ron got Charlie involved with smuggling the damn thing out at midnight one night last week. Add to that the fact that the little brats managed to get themselves caught in the act and lost the House 150 frigging points!!! Fred and I have managed to prevent any other Gryffindors from inflicting physical damage on the little shits, but it hasn't been easy. Especially since I quite feel like kicking their little butts myself.

Love,

George & Fred

*

May 21, 1992

Dear Fred & George,

Hopefully two more rolls will see you through the end of term. I'll get you some more once you're back this summer.

Didn't realize you were so frightened of the dog. My mistake. Nevermind, I'm sure it's not worth the risk. Sigh.

And give Ron a break. It's not as if you two haven't lost loads of points for Gryffindor over the past three years, is it?

I've been thinking... I think we should try backpacking this summer. Dartmoor isn't that far - and we could take the train there, you know. Do you think your mum would let you be gone for a few days in a row? Gran is so pleased with my 'transformation' that I'm betting she'll let me go. What do you think?

Looking forward to seeing you both soon. Good luck against Ravenclaw!

Love you more,

Annie

*

June 7, 1992

Dear Annie,

Thanks for the plastic wrap. We'll settle up with you when we get back.

Well, things took quite an unexpected turn here lately. Turns out one of the professors here spent the past year possessed by an evil entity, and he was scheming to get a hold of the thing that was hidden behind the trapdoor. So Harry, Ron and Hermione (the little girl I mentioned last fall, the three of them run in a pack) figured it out, followed him down there to try and stop him. I'll tell you all the gory details when I see you, but in the meantime I'll let you know they not only survived but defeated the SOB as well (and by defeated I mean permanently).

Guess Dumbledore'll be searching for yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this summer. Have I ever mentioned there's a rumor the position is cursed? I'm starting to believe it: this'll be the fourth D.A.D.A. professor for Fred and me in as many years!

And now for the bad news: we lost the last match yesterday. By a lot. We've lost the Quidditch Cup for sure as a result, and things look really bad for the House Cup as well. And as for all these alleged points Fred and I have lost over the years - the way we look at it, we've earned hundreds of points for all the times we haven't been caught.

Fred and I both love the Dartmoor idea. We'll make definite plans when we see you - meet us June 21 at the fort!

Love,

George & Fred