George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 13: Summer 1994

Age 16

"What the hell happened to your feet? How did you manage to injure every single one of your toes?" George asked, gazing incredulously at his friend's sandaled feet. They were walking down the street next to the park in the village, bored and searching for entertainment. The sun had just set, leaving the clouds in the sky livid.

Annie wiggled her blood-red toes. "It's called nail polish, dufus."

George smirked. "They look positively gory," he praised her. "Since when did you get so girlie?"

"Some of us mature as time passes," she retorted.

Fred laughed. "You'll have to excuse my brother, Annie. George still thinks all girls have cooties."

"Shut it. Like you know any better," George said with a forceful shove to his brother.

"Actually, I've recently discovered a few things girls are rather useful for," he answered, righting himself.

"Watch it, Fred. Don't make me defend the honor of my entire sex," Annie warned him jokingly.

Something about hearing Annie say that word made George want to giggle. He smothered that embarrassingly immature feeling immediately with a quick swallow.

"No offense intended, I assure you," Fred said, patently lying. "Girls are excellent at lots of things. Better than me at loads of stuff - like school for one, or wearing skirts." He knocked at the back of Annie's own rarely-seen but currently exposed knees with his foot, making them buckle.

That was unusual, George agreed silently. Instead of her typical jeans, Annie was wearing a pleated skirt made of denim, in a style vaguely similar to the girls' uniform skirt at school. This one looked better, though; a bit more stylish. The ones at school were absolutely dreadful.

"This list had better get a lot longer, and quick," Annie threatened, brandishing a fist. "And should not be limited things like cooking and cleaning, if you know what's good for you."

"But you're really good at those things, Annie. You have loads of domestic talents. What's wrong with that? Nothing to be ashamed of," Fred taunted her in a smarmy voice.

Annie halted, planting her feet. "I'm better than you at just about anything you care to name, Fred Weasley, including standing up to pee," she huffed, hands on her hips.

"Ha! How about kissing, then?" Fred dared her.

Annie rolled her eyes disdainfully, then started walking again. "Grow up."

"Like you've ever," George chimed in as well. Where was this rubbish coming from?

"You don't know everything about me, George," Fred snapped, clearly annoyed.

George snorted in disbelief. As if....

"For your information, I have kissed a girl, which is more than I can say for either of you two gits." Fred folded his arms, getting defensive. He sat down in a swing with a huff.

"Why would I want to kiss a girl?" Annie asked, purposely misunderstanding him.

Fred stuck his tongue out at her for her mockery.

"In your dreams," George taunted, nearly at the same time. He's lying! he thought with confidence that was wavering slightly.

"Actually, it was in the library, last spring. With Allison Stewart," Fred boasted.

"Bullshit! She's a seventh year!" cried George.

"I know mate, I was a bit shocked myself! She just... sort of... cornered me. Said I was really cute...." His brother smiled with the memory of it.

"When the hell did you ever set foot in the library?" protested George, unconvinced.

"Doesn't sound as if there were any reliable witnesses to this supposed kiss. How convenient for you." Annie added, sounding rather dubious herself.

"Don't be jealous, Annie! There's plenty of me to go around. I'll still be your first, if you like," Fred teased smugly as he let go of the chain and reached out his arm to take her hand.

Annie shoved him away roughly, making the chain rattle and Fred chuckle. "You're nearly a year too late, dork," she informed him. She strolled casually over to a merry-go-round nearby, spun it forcefully, then hopped on.

George was getting increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation. It was disturbing to think his twin brother and best friend had spent the last year snogging people without his knowledge. "Are you still running, Annie?" he asked, attempting to redirect it.

"Yeah," she answered, sounding eager to change the subject as well.

"Away from all the boys, obviously, George," Fred baited her.

"I can sure as hell outrun you." Annie smiled at Fred with dangerous sweetness.

The hairs on the back of George's neck stood up at the knife-edge tone in Annie's voice as she challenged his brother.

"Care to prove it?" asked Fred with all the machismo he could summon.

But George heard the slight hesitation in his brother's voice, and was willing to bet Annie did, too. George smiled in anticipation of the imminent battle. This should be entertaining....

"Name the time and place you can stand to be humiliated," she taunted him, throwing down the gauntlet.

"What's wrong with here and now? Unless you're chicken..." Fred replied coolly.

George could see Fred knew he was trapped with no escape, and was coasting on bravado alone at this point. A part of him was hoping Annie would teach Fred a lesson - he typically deserved to get taken down a peg or two, after all.

"Nothing at all," Annie said with a shrug. She began to remove her sandals which were unfit for running. George was momentarily distracted by her red toes now standing out against the green grass. "First one to reach the far end of the park - that sign over there - wins."

"That far?" asked George, slightly concerned. It went without saying that anything Fred did, George was expected to do as well. Plus, family honor was at stake now, and even though it was all in fun, George wasn't about to leave his brother without a second for support. He and Fred would definitely have an advantage in a sprint, he reckoned, but over longer distances....

"Winner gets what... a kiss?" teased Fred, presumably attempting to make her think twice about the dare.

"Why would I reward the loser and punish the winner?" she cried.

George laughed nervously. Though exactly why he felt nervous at the moment was unclear to him. Why does he keep banging on about kissing tonight, anyway?

"Ouch! Okay, just for bragging rights then," Fred said with a laugh. "Ready?"

Annie nodded. All three of them toed an imaginary line.

"Steady?" George asked.

Annie looked over at him and winked. "GO!" she yelled.

The three of them flew across the flat expanse of the park. Fred and George's equally long legs carried them farther per stride, but Annie's strength and training kept her neck and neck with them the entire way. She forced them to run flat out, that was for sure.

There was no clear winner by the time they reached the finish line. All three doubled over, sucking in air for several minutes before they were able to speak again. At which point they started laughing.

"You know... kissing isn't... so bad.... You should... let a boy... catch you... sometime..." Fred teased her as he caught his breath.

"Oh, I know... it isn't.... It was just... the idea of... kissing you, Fred," she giggled.

George bellowed with laughter. "Good one, Annie!" He held out his hand to her, and she high-fived it gently.

Annie started walking back to the starting line to collect her shoes. The boys quickly caught up with her, taking turns bumping her with their shoulders into the other one. She shoved each one back in turn. Both boys kept on walking slowly as she paused to put her shoes back on. Afterward, she jogged a few paces to catch up, then launched herself with a leap up onto Fred's back.

"Argh. A little warning would be polite," he complained as he caught her knees with his hands to support her weight, stumbling for a moment.

"Suck it up, wimp. She can't be that heavy - she's barely four feet tall," George teased his brother.

"Shut up, George!" Annie complained. "I'm five-two now!"

"It's not the weight, it's the force of the impact," Fred groaned.

"Isn't that a pretty picture," called out a female voice from a picnic table a short distance away. It was dripping with venom, unfriendly to the utmost degree.

"Excuse me?" Annie turned toward the voice, easing herself down off Fred's back. She squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the source of the malice in the dimness, and took several steps forward.

"You heard me, slag," snarled the voice.

Annie recognized the girl now. A particularly stupid one from school had been seated at the table and was rising from it threateningly. She was tall and solidly built, but otherwise unremarkable. Annie had heard through the rumor mill this one had had a big crush on Geoff last year, but she had never spoken a direct word to her in her life. At the time, Geoff had made it clear to anyone who would listen that he was uninterested.

Annie took several more steps closer to the table. She had completely forgotten the fact that anyone else was with her. Nothing registered apart from the threat emanating from the girl in front of her.

"Care to say that to my face?" she answered in a soft, threatening voice. She felt the hot blood gush out of her gut and into her limbs, and had little motivation to subdue it at the moment. Perhaps some of those vicious school rumors about her, the dirty looks launched her way, might be avenged tonight.

"Run yourself through all the boys at school, have you? Casting yourself about for something new? You disgusting whore," the girl baited Annie malevolently.

She noticed a few other girls rising to stand near the big girl. She hadn't realized before that there was a group of them at the table. But Annie didn't care. No matter - collateral damage, if they're stupid enough to get involved.

Her breath was coming in rapid gulps, oxygenating her blood for the attack. Her mind emptied of everything but the immediate battle to come. Her muscles tensed as she shifted her weight slightly to the balls of her feet in preparation to spring. Her hands throbbed with the craving for impact and curled themselves into fists. She took another step forward.

Annie was startled by a hand on her arm that suddenly yanked her backwards.

"Now, now, ladies. Let's be civil, shall we?" warned Fred, standing a few feet to the left side of her.

"Step off, Annie. She's not worth it," whispered George, maintaining his grip on her arm. He turned his back on the nasty coven strategically arranging itself and faced her instead, standing firm between her and the group of girls.

"I'm gonna to put my fist through her fucking teeth!" Annie shouted as she ducked her head around him, glaring at the girl. She pushed back against George with her arms.

"You and what army, bitch?" the girl retorted.

"You're the one with the army, you bloody cow!" Annie spat back at her. She kept trying to get around George, but he continued blocking her with his arms and body. She didn't want to hurt him, but if he didn't get out of her way soon....

George was now having some difficulty restraining his friend. He and his brother had learned a long time ago that there was some strange reserve of strength she could tap into when angry, and she was definitely connected to it now. "Annie! Leave it!" he hissed quietly, reluctant to get much more physically forceful with her.

"Let go!" Annie snarled at him in a whisper. Frustratingly, every time she got one arm free, the other one was captured. Against her wishes, he had forced her to take several steps backward at this point. "I'm warning you...."

"Lovely manners with a face to match," growled Fred toward the girl as he took a few steps backwards to help George restrain Annie's nearly murderous rage. "Pleasure to meet you. See you next Tuesday, all of you."

"That's right," the girl called out after the retreating trio of friends. "You'd better get that slut out of here! She won't be in any state to fuck you if I get my hands on her!"

Annie screamed and clawed at the body between her and her prey, finally breaking free of George's grip. In the instant of freedom that followed, she stumbled for two steps, righted herself, then lunged toward the insulting girl, sneering with pleasure at the look of shocked fear that crossed her face. She roared in triumphant anticipation as her intended victim panicked, taking several quick steps backward, then fell on her backside.

Fred grabbed her from behind just as Annie was about to pounce, pinning her arms and dragging her away from the confrontation. Kicking and howling, Annie spewed threats and epithets at the girls who now stood stunned and speechless. Working together, the brothers managed to turn her around, each firmly holding one of Annie's arms, and marched her out of the park between them.

"Damn, Annie! What the hell was that?" Fred demanded once they were seated in a chip shop a few blocks away.

They had all three been silent during the walk away from the park to this place. George had just set a basket of food and some drinks on the table and scooted himself into the booth as well. Annie sat between them in the back, staring in sullen anxiety at the table.

"Just a few of my charming schoolmates," she answered bitterly, biting her lip. She felt sick to her stomach, which was roiling full of a cocktail of nervous worry and adrenaline. What must Fred and George think of me? What if they believed that girl?

"Leave her alone," George ordered his brother. He thought he could see tears beginning to well up in her eyes, and had no clue what to do if she started to cry. Other than run back to the park and murder that herd of horrid girls. This is who Annie is forced to go to school with? They're as bad as than any Slytherins!

He shook off the thought of them, returned his focus to his friend. He couldn't remember when he had seen her this upset. Not in a long time, at least.

They sat quietly for several minutes. Neither boy had any idea what to say. Fred began munching on the food.

"I'm not like that. What she said," Annie said quietly.

"Of course you're not!" cried George, astonished she could entertain the notion they thought so of her.

"Don't be ridiculous," added Fred dismissively. After a moment, he continued. "You're so cute, I bet all the girls at school are jealous of you," he said, as he gently punched her in the arm.

Annie snorted at Fred with his mocking smirk. "You're so full of it...."

"Don't take my word for it, then. Isn't she cute, George?" prompted Fred with a grin.

"Cute as a bug," he agreed, laughing cheerfully. Smile, Annie, he encouraged her silently. Shake it off, mate....

"A cute little cockroach," Fred teased, using his arm to deflect a retaliatory slap from Annie.

"I was thinking dungbeetle," George laughed as he caught the playful fist she threw at him in his hand.

"An adorable little bloodsucking tick," sang Fred, quickly spinning his legs from under the table, out of kick range.

"The most charmingly annoying mosquito," George said as he slapped her pinching hand off his arm.

Annie giggled. "Both of you can kiss my..."

"Have a chip, will you?" George interrupted as he tossed one at her head that she caught in mid-flight with her hand and smiled.

*

Annie was sandwiched between her two best friends on the seat of her truck. Her truck, which she had bought with the money she had earned working over the past year and a half. It was a beat-up old Peugeot farm truck, nearly as old as they were, but the previous owner had recently installed a re-built engine in it, and it ran like a dream. That, combined with the fact it was the only vehicle within fifty miles that she could afford, had practically made her purchase decision for her.

"This is the surprise?" the twins had exclaimed in delight when they saw it for the first time this summer.

"Brilliant!" George had cried.

"Matches your personality perfectly," Fred had joked.

It bothered her that she never got to drive it with the twins. They always insisted on one of them being behind the wheel whenever they went somewhere together. She supposed it had something to do with the now astonishing length of their legs, at least compared to hers. Regardless, she spent most of the ride barking frustratedly at George like a backseat driver: "Watch out! Slow down!"

It was a tribute to how excited the twins were that neither of them responded much to her teasing, nor engaged in their usual tag-team torture of her while she sat between them in a perfect trap. They spent their time instead raving about today's match, which they were now on their way to see.

It was almost as if she wasn't even there at all. Would they ever outgrow this quidditch mania? she wondered.

"Here we are, then," George explained as he suddenly pulled off the road in the middle of nowhere.

"Let's park over near the trees. If anybody notices the truck, it'll look like we're hiking or something," Fred suggested.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Annie asked. There was a broad, nearly empty area surrounding them. The openness seemed to stretch for miles in all directions. Directly in front of her there appeared to be what looked like an old, abandoned rubbish dump, with hazard signs scattered all about and barbed wire fencing. An eerie mist was swirling all around it.

"What do you see?" Fred looked at her with amused interest.

She looked at him with suspicious disbelief. "A dump," she answered. As if it wasn't perfectly obvious.

"It could do with a bit of fresh paint, sure, but I wouldn't call it a dump," George laughed.

"Paint what? That manky old refrigerator? What are you on about?" she argued.

"So you don't see the pitch in front of you, right now?" George asked with another laugh.

"If that's a quidditch pitch, I have no interest at all in going any further. You lot go on ahead, I'll wait here. If you're lucky, that is...." She was beginning to feel like they were pulling her leg. She wanted to get out of this place - the sooner the better. It was starting to look more than a little bit dodgy.

"Come on, we'll prove it," Fred told her as he tugged her out of the truck behind him.

They began to walk toward the dump. But something was holding Annie back, nagging at her brain. She could feel it becoming more insistent as her friends walked on, pulling further ahead of her. What was it...?

"Oh!" she exclaimed when it finally occurred to her. How could I have been so stupid? she scolded herself.

The twins turned to look at her in curiosity.

"I'm so sorry... so stupid.... I have to get back! I'm going to be late, I know it, but maybe if I hurry I can get there...." She began walking backward to the truck.

"Annie, what are you..." George began to ask.
"Gran has an appointment," she interrupted him. "Today! In less than an hour. I just remembered...."

An amused smile was spreading across Fred's face. "Annie, we've been planning this for two weeks. There's no appointment. Your day is free, remember?"

Now that he mentioned it, she realized he was right. That was odd, not to mention stupid of her. She was beginning to feel rather annoyed with the entire situation, her smugly smiling friends included.

"What's going on here? I feel strange...."

Fred laughed and took her elbow in his hand, guiding her along. "It's the repelling charm. Keeps muggles away, so they don't see anything they're not supposed to. Which is why you're dressed up in Ginny's robes, so nobody here realizes that's exactly what you are, git."

Annie glared at him with narrowed eyes. She did not like to be laughed at. Especially by annoyingly smart-mouthed jerks.

George took two steps back toward them and took her other arm. "This may be more of a challenge than we expected, Fred," he teased. "She's pretty thick, even for a muggle."

They both began dragging her toward the barbed wire fence. Her every step was reluctant, no matter what she tried to tell her legs. She just couldn't convince her body that this was where she wanted to be.

"People are starting to stare," Fred warned her in a whisper.

"People? What people?" she demanded. They were completely alone out here in the middle of this godforsaken moor. This rubbish has gone on just about long enough....

Suddenly, her feet refused to take another step. Annie stood frozen directly in front of the fence. She looked at George in panic. "I can't move!" she whispered.

George looked first at her, then at his brother with alarm. "What now?"

Fred bent swiftly and threw Annie bodily over his shoulder. "I'm not missing this match," he grunted in agitation, and began walking forward again, passing right through the fence!

To Annie's astonishment, the fence shimmered like a reflection in still water being disturbed, then disappeared altogether behind them. The unnerving silence of the empty field was suddenly replaced by loud cheers and raucous music, then a booming voice called out like an announcer at a sporting event, rattling off the names of the players for each team. A giant, well-groomed pitch now stood where heaps of garbage had been an instant ago.

Using her arms as braces, she propped herself up against Fred's back and looked around in wonder as she was carried further into the stadium by him. An enormous sunken oval field was in front of them, surrounded by rickety-looking wooden stands. Six large hoops, three at each end, soared into the sky. Colorful pennants and banners snapped in the breeze.

Fred set her back on her feet when they reached the stairs leading up into the stands where their seats were. "I'm not lugging your ass up all these steps, that's for damn sure," he warned her.

"It's okay, Fred. Whatever it was before, I think it's gone now," she said softly as she gazed around her.

This was magic on a much grander scale than she had ever imagined. A vast stadium had been completely invisible and inaudible to her only moments ago. And it was filled with hundreds of wizards and witches in the craziest getups she had ever seen. It was like a costume party. Her mouth was agape and smiling slightly.

Fred led the way up the steps to their seats, which were pretty far up. George climbed behind her, keeping a hand at her back, just in case she needed any further prodding. As they sat down, Annie was still gobsmacked by the scene surrounding her, and the boys chuckled, pleased with her awed reaction.

Fred offered to head back down for some food. Annie stood and began to dig into her pockets, pulling out some money.

"Put that away! Your money's no good here," Fred laughed as he rose and walked away.

George pushed her hand back into her pocket. "He means it. Nobody accepts those muggle notes here. You'll draw attention to us," he warned.

"Oh, sorry. I'll pay you back later, I guess," she said.

"It's our treat, mate!" He beamed at her, patting her shoulder.

Annie was instantly struck by the bright warmth of his smile; his pleasant, friendly face. And those shining brown eyes, framed with the longest, palest eyelashes she had ever seen on a boy. She was utterly astonished to suddenly realize that George had grown really quite... handsome... over the past year.

How had she missed that, before today? This day was full of odd discoveries, she mused. Was the same true of Fred? She would have to check when he returned.

George pointed at something on the field, commanding her attention while began to explain to her once more the rules of the game. The noise level made it necessary for him to lean close to her ear for her to hear him. The rules were difficult enough to remember without the novel distraction of his face being so close to hers. She hoped it wasn't too obvious that her eyes kept being drawn to his. She nodded every once in a while, praying her act of paying attention was convincing.

It was a small relief to see Fred making his way back up the stairs carrying a large pile of food and several bottles. Yes, she realized, Fred had matured over the past year as well - handsome in a similar, but not exactly identical way. He smiled at her too, but it was just a fraction less brightly, not quite as warmly. At any rate, she did not have the same internal reaction.

Which is odder still, she thought. She had always considered the twins as completely separate individuals, with distinct personalities. That was nothing new. But she had also always felt an equal amount of affection for each of them. Was that starting to change? she wondered. She hoped not, aghast at the thought... that wouldn't be fair!

The match began, and the noise level increased. Despite the fact that she hadn't quite grasped all the strategy behind the game, the play was exciting due to the frenetic pace of the flyers. The broom riders zipped about, with robes fluttering in trails behind them.

George leaned in again, directing her focus to a player that was currently hovering for a moment at their end of the field. He was holding a bat and scanning the field. "That's my position - beater. Fred as well," he explained into her ear.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he spoke. Goosebumps erupted on her flesh as a result. She was equal parts mortified and fascinated by them. She forced herself to watch the action as the flyer suddenly sped off, a barely visible blur.

"Nice shot!" cried Fred. He leaned back toward her, and spoke into her ear. "The beaters' job is to knock the bludgers, those big flying balls, at the other team's players."

Nothing. Annie felt no physical response to the identical action by Fred. What the blazes was happening to her?

She leaned toward Fred, rising on tiptoe to shout a question at him. "Does anybody ever get hurt by the bludgers?" She knew the answer from personal experience, but thought it sounded like a logical follow-up.

Fred had tilted his head toward her to hear better, keeping his eyes on the game as she spoke, then turned to her briefly with a smile and a nod, giving her a thumbs up gesture. "If we're lucky!" he cried, then immediately turned back to the action on the pitch.

She smiled and shook her head at him. Dear, funny Fred: master of mayhem and disaster. She could imagine that he would truly feel in his element, bashing bewitched bludgers at opponents while speeding through midair on a broom, risking his own neck. The game was likely heaven on earth, to him.

She turned to George, tapped him gently on the shoulder. He bent his ear down to her, absentmindedly putting his arm around her back, resting his hand on her hip to steady himself. Electricity shot through her body as every nerve fiber focused its attention on that spot on her hip now externally warmed by his hand, almost causing her to forget her question.

"Do the bludgers... ever come into the stands?" she stammered, slightly worried as she recalled the force of impact from a few years ago. She absentmindedly rubbed her right forearm with the memory of it.

George looked directly at her and smiled reassuringly as he shook his head. Her heart skipped a beat. "You're safe," he added. "They have extra referees around to protect spectators at matches like this." He turned and cheered with the crowd - the boys' favorite team had scored another goal.

She spent the next half an hour forcing herself to follow the match. What in the bloody hell is wrong with me? she thought with mounting anxiety. Why was she reacting in such an annoying - yet physically thrilling, she had to concede - manner to George, but not Fred? What exactly did it all mean? Was it something to do with all the magic swirling about her? Had it addled her muggle brain somehow? Would it go away after they left this place?

Could anything go back to normal, after this?

She took a long drink, draining her bottle. "What's this stuff called again?" she asked no one in particular.

Fred hadn't heard her; his attention was entirely absorbed by the match.

George turned toward her - apparently he had. "Butterbeer. Like it?" he asked, flashing another one of those thought-scrambling smiles at her.

She nodded. Yes, she liked it. Far more than was good for her, she reckoned.

*

A week later, Annie knelt on the ground in front of the open tent, gazing at the two red-haired slumbering heads resting on the pillows in front of her. Her own tent was a few feet away from theirs, but she had been awake for hours now. Impatient to get on with the day, she bent down to croon softly in George's ear. "Wake up you lovely great lump of a boy," she sang in a quiet, mockingly seductive voice.

She saw a flicker of a smile cross his face, followed by a brief, low, quiet sound that she almost didn't catch. Had it been a sigh?

That was strange, she thought. She was expecting a response something more along the lines of a swat to the ears....

George smiled to hear her voice crooning so close to his ear. He was still smiling as his eyes blinked open and found his gaze resting on Annie's upside-down head hovering above his. He saw an answering half-smile on her face, along with a puzzled expression.

It took about four seconds for George to realize the following things:

1. He was awake, and therefore no longer dreaming.

2. He had in fact been dreaming moments ago. About Annie. And himself.

3. It had been a very vivid dream, and he was about to die of embarrassment if she happened to look in the wrong direction....

George quickly rolled over in his sleeping bag so that he was now lying on his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. This position felt uncomfortable to be sure, but it was infinitely preferable to resembling a flagpole in front of her. He felt the mortification of it burning on his face, which must now be a similar shade to his hair.

"Oh, come on," she cried in frustration. "The tide is coming in now and I want help to get the sailboard down to the beach. Get up already, you lazy git!" She shoved his face further into the pillow as she tousled his hair with her fingers.

"Just a minute. Let me stretch," he mumbled into his pillow. That was a pretty good excuse, right? Why this morning, of all mornings, did this have to happen to him?

He tried to think of something else.... But it didn't help that the image currently burned onto his retinas was Annie kneeling over him wearing shorts and a bikini top, a reality which meshed rather well with the dream he had been having. After a long, over-exaggerated stretch and roar of a yawn, he lifted his head and spoke again.

"What time is it?" he asked, attempting to stall a few minutes more.

Annie now sat back onto her heels on the ground in front of him with her hands set on her hips. "Nearly eleven," she whined impatiently. "I've been trying to wake your blasted brother for about ten minutes now. He appears to be dead. Sorry for your loss, by the way. Then you started moving a bit and I thought you might be easier to arouse, so I gave up on the corpse and began torturing you."

Arouse. Torture. Interesting choice of words, he mused. He filled his lungs with the sea air and blew it out again forcefully. The worst of the embarrassment had past, and he figured he could safely stand up now. He rolled himself over and sat up, legs still in the sleeping bag, his back to Annie.

Fred took that moment to snort loudly and roll over, then returned to the stillness of the grave.

"If you promise not to fall back asleep, I'll give you some privacy," Annie giggled quietly.

George chuckled in return. "Not necessary. I fell asleep in my trunks last night." He crawled out of the tiny tent he shared with his brother. "I'm starved. What's to eat?" he asked through another yawn as he stood.

Annie tossed him a plastic bag full of scones and he stuffed one whole into his mouth. He had almost finished it when he began to explain, "The only reliable way I've found to wake Fred is with a forceful kick. Placement doesn't appear to be critical. Just be prepared to sprint for it once his eyes are open." He stuffed in another scone. "These are good!" he added, barely intelligible.

"Feel free to swallow before speaking next time, you troll," Annie teased.

"I'll remember that next time I try to give you a compliment, hag," he parried.

This was more like it - the teasing insults. Back to normal, he thought. Must have been some random, crazy dream. He'd certainly had some bizarre ones lately, involving a disturbing cast of characters.

He ate two more scones. "Want one?" he offered.

Her hand fluttered mockingly at her heart. "Such a gentleman!"

"Forget it then. More for me," he retorted.

She had probably already eaten, he figured. Judging by her wet hair, she'd already been swimming, too. He finished chewing the last of the scone as he watched her bend over to collect the mast and sail of the rented sailboard, lifting them to her shoulders and shifting their weight to find the right balance point.

"All right, no more excuses. I let you sleep late and fed you. Make yourself useful and bring the board," she ordered.

"What a ray of sunshine you are this morning!" he replied.

She ignored him and started walking along the path that led to the beach.

"I thought this was supposed to be a vacation, not a forced labor camp!" he called after her.

Annie responded by flashing him a rude hand gesture over her shoulder without turning around.

Chuckling, he grabbed the board and jogged after her. His long legs caught up with her comparably short ones quickly. The path to the shore from their campsite was level and didn't demand much attention, so his eyes and thoughts wandered. His gaze kept roving back to look at Annie.

Suddenly this morning, for no reason he could understand, he had become hyperaware of her. He noticed, for instance, how she had grown quite a bit taller over the last year or so. Yet her body was still compact; the top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. And she had.... Well, there was no other description for it: filled out - quite pleasingly.

His eyes grazed over her body, taking careful note of the many new and interesting features there. It lacked any hard edges or sharp lines anymore. He'd never paid attention before to the soft curves of her shoulders, waist and hips; how they moved synchronously together as she walked. He caught himself staring at her buttocks as they moved rhythmically underneath her shorts with each step.

He shook his head violently in an attempt to scatter the unbidden thoughts. Forbidden thoughts. This was Annie, for crying out loud! the sensible part of his brain railed. She'd probably deck me if she knew what I was thinking just then, and for good reason!

What was wrong with him this morning?

Show some self control, man, he admonished himself silently. He now forced his eyes to stare straight ahead, above Annie's head, at the horizon line.

They reached the beach after a short walk further. Annie set the sail down on the sand next to her towel and bag. He stopped a few feet away from her, still attempting to clear his mind.

"The sun is getting stronger, this late in the morning. Best to slather up," Annie recommended. She pulled a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag and started distributing it on her legs and arms. Stomach. Chest.

George tore his eyes away from ogling her and forced himself to stare out at the water, but couldn't completely help that his attention was still acutely focused on the movements he could still see out of the corner of his eye. Control, he reminded himself once again.

"Your turn," she called and tossed him the bottle.

"No thanks, Mum. I'll pass," he said disdainfully as he threw it back to her. It was just habit to argue with her, really. What they always did, after all. Just like normal... and normal was good. Right?

"Don't be thick. Look at your skin, ghost boy. You'll fry to a crisp!" she scolded and tossed the bottle at him once again.

He rolled his eyes but decided she was probably right. He didn't fancy the idea of spending the rest of the week with skin on fire. She busied herself by rigging the sail onto the mast as he put on some sunscreen. He handed the bottle back to her after he finished.

"Here, turn around and I'll get your back, then you can do mine," she said.

She didn't wait for an answer, just spun him around on the spot and began rubbing the lotion across his shoulders, neck and back. He lost his self control momentarily - what little there seemed to be of it this morning, anyway - and allowed himself to relish the sensations of her impromptu massage.

Mistake! his rational mind screamed. Recovering just in time to avoid humiliation, he slammed his curiously raging libido back behind iron bars. Control!

She finished spreading sunscreen on his back, then handed him the bottle once more. She stood in front of him now, facing away with her arms raised horizontally. Expectantly.

CONTROL!

He forced his hands to quickly spread the lotion across her shoulders. He could feel he was rapidly approaching the brink of mortal embarrassment, the longer he touched her. He swallowed hard and paused for a moment, trying to think.

He cast around in his head for the most revolting thing he could think of. The smell of a dungbomb? Flobberworms? Aunt Muriel? Yes, that would do: Aunt Muriel. The worst of the crisis was staved off for the moment.

"Don't forget this part," Annie requested. She was pointing to the small of her back, directing his attention there. The string from the tiny knot at the middle of her back dangled down onto her lovely golden...

No, wait... DUNGBOMBS! he shouted in his head.

No good. He closed his eyes and focused instead on the mental picture of Aunt Muriel in her lavender muumuu as he brusquely slopped sunscreen on her lower back, dropping the bottle clumsily into the sand.

"Thanks," she said softly, looking back at him over her shoulder.

They both bent down to pick up the pieces of the sailboard and dragged them to the water. Working together they fit the sail onto the board. Annie had positioned herself in front of him, her body bent a little over the board, leaning toward him, holding it still in the water while George worked the mast into the socket. Distracted by her alarming proximity and the flurry of inappropriate images now coming to mind, he smashed one of his fingers in the attempt.

Dungbombs! Frog spawn! The reasonable voice in his head was growing more feeble by the second. The images, however, burned with disturbing intensity.

Nothing was working to dispel the horrible rush of blood now, not even the throbbing pain in his finger. George felt an urgent need to get himself into deeper water. "You can go first," he rushed to offer.

"Okay," replied Annie, shrugging her shoulders. She turned her back to him and started pushing the sailboard through the waves out into deeper water.

George dove into the next wave, aiming himself at an angle away from Annie. The cold water was helping him regain some measure of control over his renegade body, and he stayed under until his lungs were burning for another breath. What is wrong with me today? he asked himself yet again as he dove again under the next wave. Some strange surge of hormones?

He surfaced once more and faced the shore. Fred was now standing there, near Annie's pile of stuff. He swam back to join his brother, eager for distraction.

Fred had dug around in Annie's bag until he found the sunscreen and was dousing himself. Together, they entertained themselves for a while watching Annie teach herself by trial and error to stay upright on the sailboard. After several spectacularly hilarious wipeouts, she seemed to get the hang of it. Maybe it was the distance, or perhaps the buffering presence of his brother, but George felt a welcome normalcy return to his mind and body once more.

Half an hour later, Annie cruised all the way back onto shore. Hopping off the board, she struck a body-building pose with her fists in the air and shouted in triumph. "That was bloody brilliant!" she exclaimed as she flopped down on the sand in front of her audience, spraying them with icy, refreshing droplets of ocean.

"I agree," offered Fred. "Which part was more brilliant, George? The time she was thrown in headfirst? Or the one when she bellyflopped?"

"I would have to vote for the time she flew ass over teakettle off the back end," he offered.

"Ah, yes. One for the highlight reels, that," Fred agreed.

The brothers laughed heartily.

Annie indignantly stuck out her tongue but then couldn't resist breaking into a good-natured grin too. "Let's see you do any better, George."

George leaped up and ran toward the board. "Pay attention now, children," he called back to them.

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon similarly engaged. The boys caught on a bit faster than Annie had done. She claimed it was because their fat heads were better able to counterbalance the sail.

They took shelter from the worst of the afternoon sun at the movies in town nearby. All three agreed the mindless action film would be a far superior waste of their time than the romantic sap-fest that was also being offered. Afterward, they stopped at a market on their way out of town. Then it was back to the campsite for dinner. Annie whipped up an enormous pot of camp stew, which the boys devoured entirely.

"That was excellent!" offered Fred.

"Don't give her a compliment. It brings out the inner hag," George warned.

"In that case, it was a particularly putrid poison. I think I'm about to puke."

"Sod off," smirked Annie.

"Didn't I tell you?" laughed George.

"Quite haggy," agreed Fred.

They lounged around the campfire late into the evening. Fred and George spent a good deal of time arguing amongst themselves whether or not Ireland could possibly make it to the Quidditch World Cup finals this summer.

Annie was well used to this sort of exclusive conversation between them by now. She didn't mind so much anymore. It was just nice to hear their voices again, after the long school year doing without. Unable to actively participate, she let her mind drift as she gazed alternately between the fire and the tiny scrap of a setting moon.

She was in trouble.

She couldn't deny it any longer: it was definitely a crush. What better word could describe the feeling in her chest, her stomach, whenever she found herself lately in George's presence?

This morning had been a particularly excruciating spot of heaven, down at the beach while she had been alone with him and inspired by an excuse to touch him. She felt guilty about that now. Even more so for forcing him to touch her when she asked him for help with the sunscreen for her back. But oh - the rush of her heart and the surge of her blood when he had! Her body sang as it relived those moments.

Instantly she was disgusted with herself. How pathetic! He could barely stand it - having to touch her - that much had been obvious. She was paying for it now. The swath of burned skin across the middle of her back was painful enough that she'd be sleeping on her stomach tonight.

What could she do? Ever since Fred and George began leaving for Hogwarts every fall, she practically held her breath until the time they reunited with her each summer. There was no one else on the planet with whom she felt more comfortable, more relaxed, more at peace. It was ironic that as different as they were, from two separate worlds practically, there was no one she was closer to - excepting her Gran, of course. She imagined for a moment spending the summer days without them, and felt an emptiness inside that she thought would leave her for dead.

Misery to keep herself apart. Heart-wrenching torture to stay.

"That's it for me. I'm completely knackered," yawned Fred, interrupting her thoughts.

"You've only been awake for eleven hours!" George chided him.

"Your point?" Fred demanded.

"None. Forget it. You clearly need your beauty sleep," he chuckled.

George then turned to Annie. "You ready for bed as well?" he asked.

His soft, smooth voice sent a thrill through her. "I suppose," she replied, as casually as she could manage.

Annie smiled to herself as she turned to crawl into her tent. Yes, this must be her own tiny little bit of heaven/hell. She would be replaying his voice repeating that phrase in her head all night long, of that she was sure.

Their second morning at the beach, Annie had gingerly removed her shirt and began to apply more sunscreen.

"Oi!" exclaimed Fred when he saw the angry red band across the middle of her back. "That must hurt!"

"Indeed, Captain Obvious," she answered sarcastically. "Your brother missed a spot yesterday."

"Git," Fred snorted. "Let me show you how it's done, idiot," he called to George who had just reached them. "Pay attention now!"

George had been stalling this morning, trying to avoid being alone again with Annie. He rolled his eyes, but did in fact watch as his brother carefully spread the sunscreen over Annie's back. He cringed when she flinched and sucked in her breath through her teeth as Fred tried to gently cover the burned skin.

"Sorry!" his brother muttered sympathetically, then continued rubbing his hands down the rest her back. Back up to her neck. Now her shoulders.

If his brother didn't stop touching Annie soon George would be unable to keep from punching him. "Save some for the rest of us," he growled.

Fred smiled at him and winked, then handed the bottle to Annie. "Would you get mine for me?" he asked her, all innocence. Turning to face away from her, he grinned broadly at George and wiggled his eyebrows as Annie doused him with sunscreen.

George looked down at the sand. As difficult as it had been yesterday when Annie had touched him, when he had touched her - this was worse. A hundred times worse. He knew that he could not risk looking at Fred again. The urge to knock that leer off his face would be irresistible.

From now on, he would make sure that he and Annie got down to the beach before Fred woke. Yes, he decided, that would be better than this.

The next five days fell into a similar pattern. Mornings and early afternoons at the beach. Late afternoons in town. Suppers back at camp. Lounging by the fire before bed. Sleep. Repeat.

The last day of their trip came too soon. Annie kept her camera with her the whole time that day, snapping shots of the brothers around the campsite and riding the waves.

Fred stole it from her bag when she went out for her last turn on the board. He took a picture of George with his eyes crossed and nose pressed up like a pig's. Then he hiked down his shorts and took a picture of his own ass.

"Classy!" cried George.

He reached out and yanked the camera away from his brother before he embarrassed himself any further. Annie had shown him how to use it last summer. Recalling the lessons, he pointed the viewfinder out to sea and spun the lens to bring her into tight focus. He chuckled to himself, knowing she'd be furious to find a sneaky, forbidden picture of herself when the roll was developed.

"Oh, yeah!" Fred encouraged him. "She'll be right pissed at that! Good one!"

George paused, staring at her for several moments through the viewfinder. She was seated, straddling the board with her hands resting on her thighs, relaxing for a moment between waves. The colorful sail fanned out on the water's surface to her right. The sun shone on her damp, golden skin. Wet curls clung to her forehead, cheeks and neck. There was a bright, contented smile on her face as she floated serenely on the waves.

It was a lovely scene. George swallowed the strange lump that had formed in his throat, then snapped the picture.

The three of them spent the afternoon laughing and joking with each other as they packed up the campsite and loaded Annie's truck. Then Fred drove them home.

They never let Annie drive her own vehicle, primarily because neither one of the twins could fit on the seat when it was pulled up far enough for her feet to reach the pedals. They always made her sit in the center behind the gearshift on the floor. It was an added perk that it reliably drove her batty having to sit between them, where they could take the mickey out of her mercilessly and she had no escape.

Today Annie's legs were forced to rest across George's lap the whole way home, with her head leaning on Fred's shoulder. George couldn't tell whether he or his brother had the better end of the deal. At least, with a week's worth of practice controlling himself, he was able to avoid further embarrassment. It took a lot of concentration, though.

Fred pulled off the road just onto the overgrown lane that lead to the Burrow and parked. The boys piled out of the cab. George shut the passenger door and walked around the front of the truck to the driver's side.

"See you Saturday?" George asked, closing the door for Annie as she scooted the seat forward in order to drive.

"Nah. Gotta work. Sunday?" she offered.

"Can't. We're all going to pick up Harry then."

Fred had finished unloading all their gear from the back of the truck as they were talking. "See you, Annie!" he called, and banged an all clear signal on the side of the truck bed with his hand.

They both turned to look at Fred. Annie leaned out of the window and waved goodbye to him. Fred turned and began trudging through the tall grass of the lane, which had overgrown in the years since the Anglia had been gone, headed to the Burrow.

George turned back to her as she began to speak, only to discover her face was now inches away from his.

"Oh, right. Well, have fun at the match. Hope this Krum bloke is as amazing in person as Fred seems to think," she said.

Krum. She said something about Krum? Are we talking about the Cup, then? George snorted. "We'll tell you all about it when we get back. Next Friday then?"

"Okay. See you then. At the fort."

Several moments passed, and George still hadn't moved away from the door. Annie hadn't moved to restart the truck either. They seemed frozen by each other's gaze, stunned by realization of how physically close they were, after a week of careful avoidance.

"Are you coming?" Fred hollered impatiently.

That broke the spell. George shoved himself off the door of the truck, turned away and bent down to gather the stuff Fred had left behind. Annie was mortified to discover she had been practically leaning out the window. She turned the key and drove off.

The following week dragged interminably for Annie. The sole bright spot, as well the most depressing, was when she picked up the photos from their trip.

Lying in her bed, she laid them out one by one on her quilt. Out of thirty-six frames, no less than twenty-five were of George. She was particularly angry with herself for taking the one of his sleeping face. He had looked so peaceful, so handsome that morning that she couldn't resist. It had crossed a line and she knew it. So far it was her favorite.

There were three near the end of the roll that were unexpected. One was of George mugging for a picture. Of course Fred would have stolen the camera when I wasn't around to guard it, she realized with a smirk. Another was a blurry flesh-colored photo that could only be Fred's ass. Classic Fred, she chuckled to herself.

And then she saw the photo of herself on the sea. She was impressed by how well it was composed. The colors were vivid, the focus sharp. She usually hated photos of herself, but this one was different. Maybe because it was a candid? She was surprised by how... how happy she looked. Blissful, almost.

Another thought suddenly entered her head: which of the boys had taken the picture of her? The two previous shots were unquestionably taken by Fred, but was this one as well? Or could it possibly have been George? A grenade of joy exploded through her as she considered this option.

Could she afford to hope? Probably not. Could she resist? Unlikely.

When Annie met up with the boys again the following Friday under the willow, they were practically exploding with the tale of their adventure. She had nine years of experience following the tennis match that their conversations could become when they were excited, but this one was hard to follow even for her. Some poor git ate one of their trick treats. The unparalleled quidditch match - she would have to find out what a veela was exactly. The riot that had followed during the night. Their plans for vengeance against a bookie who had cheated them.

She was exhausted from the heat as much as the animated monolog - or was that technically a dialog? - by the time they finished the tale.

"I'm roasting. Anyone else care for a swim?" asked Fred.

Annie looked at George, who she discovered was looking at her. He raised an eyebrow in question. She gave a small shrug and a tiny shake of her head.

"Nah," they both replied coincidentally in unison.

"Suit yourselves." Fred strolled off toward the river.

And then they were alone. What each of them hoped for at least as much as they dreaded, unbeknownst to the other. Neither could bring themselves look at each other directly.

Annie broke the silent, awkward standoff. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small envelope. "I made duplicates of the snaps from the trip. Thought you two might like some. They don't move, but they're not half bad." She had sharply edited the collection, of course.

George took the envelope and flipped through the photographs. The first one was of his brother and himself, cheeks bulging with breakfast, the tents behind them visible over their shoulders. The next were action shots of each of the two of them riding the sailboard. Here was another one with Fred in the midst of being toppled by a wave; he had to chuckle at that one. Another one of a beautiful sunset. Then came the stupid ones Fred had taken. He laughed out loud when he noticed she had given him both copies of Fred's ass portrait.

"I want him to autograph my copy before you leave," she explained, laughing with him.

"Oh no, don't! He'll never let it go!" George begged her.

"Sorry. That's just too classic Fred," she giggled.

George turned back to the pictures. He knew which one should be next. He held his breath in hope as he looked.

And there it was: Annie on the sailboard. He didn't mean to stare at it for so long, but found he couldn't look away.

"Did you take that one, or was it Fred?" Annie asked quietly. She hoped her voice sounded casual. She was staring out across the stream.

"I did," he confessed, wondering why it felt so dangerous to do so. He had never hesitated to brag - usually in ridiculous exaggeration - in front of her before.

Annie's heart spun within her chest. After taking a few seconds to get herself back under control, she continued. "It's really good. The composition, I mean."

"Thanks," he mumbled.

He flipped through the final two pictures, not really seeing them. He replaced the stack into the envelope and set it carefully aside.

"Thanks. For the snaps, I mean. It was fun. The trip," he stammered. George wanted to punch himself for sounding so stupid.

"Yeah," Annie agreed awkwardly.

They sat quietly for a while.

"I'm going to miss you two," she confessed softly. She felt safe saying it, since she had said exactly the same thing for the past five years. She had a feeling it was even more of an understatement this time, however.

George nudged her shoulder with his own. "Cheer up. We always write."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Fred never writes, does he?"

"No, not really," George admitted. "I've been forging his signature for a couple of years now. He's a self-centered prat, so what do you expect?"

She giggled and shrugged.

He took her hand and patted it gently. "I promise to write you," he added with half-mocking sincerity.

"You're such a saint," she laughed.

"True. Destined for paradise, me," George agreed, smiling.

"Via martyrdom, most likely," Annie teased him.

They laughed together for a moment longer. Then they heard Fred squishing and dripping his way back to where they sat. George let go of her hand and put the photos safely into his pocket.

"Come on, Annie, love. Give us a goodbye hug!" called Fred.

"No! Fred! Cut it out!" she squealed and tried to dodge his open arms without luck.

The three friends laughed. It was the last time they would see each other for two years.