George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 26: Crash Course

August 1997

Once Arthur had extended the Fidelius charm to include her, the night after the wedding, Annie began a crash course in magic. She had to admit, the spell itself was rather anticlimactic, considering the traumatic events leading up to it. No magical ties now connected her to the Weasleys, no glowing gag bound her mouth, not even a measly flash of light. She just read a sentence written on a scrap piece of parchment: "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at the Burrow."

But as a direct consequence, George had apparated into her room every night after curfew that week, instructing her in the basics of magical communication, starting with the Patronus. He began that first night by conjuring a beautiful, silvery falcon that flew in a circle once around her room, then alit on the chair by her desk.

"This is my Patronus, Annie. No one else can make exactly the same one. It can't be faked. In an emergency I can send it to you, along with a brief message. It will speak with my voice, in that case. You can trust whatever information it will share with you, but you can't ask it anything in return. It's not as good as a phone that way. Understand?"

Annie nodded slowly with amazement. She was mesmerized by the eerily life-like bird of prey, cocking its head from side to side as it appeared to be sizing her up. She was disappointed when the shining quicksilver bird faded back into the darkness from whence it came.

"Now, you've already seen Fred's Patronus. The fox, remember? The same rules apply anytime you see it. The rest of my family will show you their Patronuses the next time you see them. You must memorize them, so you know which ones you can trust."

Annie nodded mutely, picturing in her mind the fox she had seen a week ago. "How will I contact you, then?"

George pondered this for a moment. "Well, we still have the cell phones. That will have to do. Why don't we set up some sort of schedule, to check in with each other? Maybe a few times a day?"

"As long as you don't feel that's too restrictive... for you, I mean," Annie agreed.

George laughed in disbelief. "That promises to be one of the least restrictive things we'll be dealing with from now on." He became serious then. "It's all about to get really complicated, Annie.... Are you sure you still want this?"

Annie barely let him finish his sentence. "Don't you dare even ask, George! No second thoughts now.... You're stuck with me, remember?" she teased.

George smiled. "I'm counting on it."

The next night, as they sat together on her bed, they discussed the personal security measures they needed to begin taking. It was the single most frightening conversation Annie had ever had in her life. Even more jarring than the one she had had with George's father about the Fidelius charm business.

"Annie - you need to start verifying that I am who I say I am, every time we see each other, from now on," he recommended, leaning back against the headboard.

"What do you mean?" she asked, alarmed. She sat at the foot of the bed, hugging her legs to her chest. "If I can tell the difference between you and Fred...."

George shook his head. "It's not that simple. There are two ways a Death Eater could impersonate me..."

"You mean like when Harry turned into Stephen?" she interrupted.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed, impressed with how quickly she made the connection. "That's the effect of Polyjuice Potion: the imposter would look exactly like me, but might sound or act differently. And the effect only lasts about an hour or so, then you start to revert back to yourself, unless you take another dose."

"Got it. So if you look like you, but act or sound a bit off and make a point of drinking something odd every hour, I know you're not really you, right?" she said, only slightly sarcastically. She remembered the disorienting shock of seeing Stephen at the wedding a few days ago, understanding it had been the result of the chest hair she had plucked from him that morning. He certainly hadn't acted remotely like the Stephen she knew.

"So the Death Eaters would have to get a part of you to make this potion, just like we did?" she continued.

George nodded, unwilling to elaborate further on such a scenario: if he was captured; his family's safety compromised; the Order's secrecy at risk.

"And the other way?" Annie asked, not really wanting to know.

"It's called the Imperius Curse. In which case, it would actually be me, but I would be mentally and physically under the control of someone else. Now, Fred and I have been practicing resisting being Imperiused, and I'm getting better at it. So there's a decent chance, again, that I'd be acting a bit strangely in this case, because I'd be fighting it off."

"Are you trying to make me a paranoid train wreck? Or is that just a perk for you?" she half-teased him.

He rolled his eyes. "Fact is, someone could be impersonating you as well. It's for both our safety that we come up with some way to verify we are who we say we are."

"Okay then - how?"

"I know it sounds stupid," he said, smirking, "but - we have to come up with a password of sorts. Some questions to ask each other that would only be known by the two of us, if we were in our right minds."

"Oh, is that all?" She laughed with relief. "I was worried we were going to resort to some elaborate magical fingerprint business or something."

"I grant you it seems a bit silly, but we probably ought to take it seriously, all the same."

"How do I know you are who you say you are right now? You certainly don't sound like my George Weasley, so serious and grave..." she teased him, moving from the foot to the head of the bed and sidling up next to him.

"Good question. Ask me something that only I would know," he suggested, putting his arm around her.

Annie thought for a moment, then smiled slyly. "How about... identifying markings? Like what's on my back...?"

George smiled and chuckled. "I like what you're implying by that, but it's no good. Anyone could make a pretty good guess at a leading question like that, and you wouldn't necessarily prevent me from looking, if you thought I was me. Try again. Maybe a memory we share this time...."

"Like - when we first met?"

"Better, but it's a bit predictable. If I was going to Imperius someone, that'd be one of the first questions I'd ask them...."

"What do you suggest, then?" She was tired of getting shot down.

"How about... the first birthday presents we ever gave each other? That might be sufficiently obscure."

"You remember that?" she exclaimed.

"Of course! The only cake I've ever seen before or since with my name alone on it. And the gumdrops were an excellent touch..." he said, nuzzling her jawline.

"I can't believe you remember," she said, shaking her head in wonder.

"And you? You can't have forgotten your surprise birthday party? Fred and I went to so much trouble, catching all those blasted fairies," he laughed.

Annie smiled as she lay down and leaned over the side of the bed. She pulled out a shoebox from beneath it and set it on the quilt between them. She carefully opened the lid, then gingerly set aside dozens of letters and several scraps of parchment. There at the bottom of the box, lying next to a photo and an empty glass vial, was the very first gift she had received from the boy would someday become her true love. She picked them up and held them in her hand, offering them to George.

"Fifty-seven Famous Wizard cards, numbers one through sixty, missing numbers seven, twenty-one, and forty-five."

George looked up from the box in quiet amazement.

She winced as she misinterpreted his expression. "Pathetic, I know." She carefully replaced the contents back into the box, then returned the box to its proper resting place. "Bordering on creepy - or is it just generically obsessive-compulsive, do you think?" she asked lightly, attempting to minimize what she suspected was his growing discomfort.

George laid himself down next to her, staring at the quilt, his fingers fiddling with a seam. "That depends," he replied, a half-smile now brightening his face.

"On what? I might be mental, but I wouldn't harm you," she teased, wondering if he felt leery of her, now that she had revealed how truly psychologically disturbed she was. They both were lying on their stomachs now, propped up on their elbows. Her feet were resting on the quilt, while George's legs were hanging well over the opposite edge of the bed. "Don't be frightened by my weirdness," she reassured him.

"You think I don't have a similar collection? Mine's a bit more disorganized than yours, of course," he chuckled, "but they're all there in my old school trunk. Your letters, anyway, and the books you sent, and the photos. The plastic wrap is long gone, as you can imagine," he laughed.

Annie shook her head, calling his bluff. "Bullshit. I don't believe you." She was convinced he was just trying to make her feel better about her perverse compulsion to cling to anything associated with him. But as embarrassed as she felt about it, she had no intention of getting rid of her treasure collection. She would keep those things with her forever.

"Why not?" he protested. "We had to hide the evidence that we were pen friends with a muggle, for starters. And then... well, aside from Fred, you're my best friend."

"What about all the other wizard kids at Hogwarts? What about Lee?" she asked doubtfully. As much as she wanted to believe him, she found it very difficult to think he had felt the same way about a muggle girl as she did for her wizard boys, back then.

"Oh, Lee was great. Still is. Always good for a laugh. But... it wasn't the same. You know, I don't think he ever once broke curfew with us."

"Never?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "How can anyone live in a magical castle and not explore it after dark?"

"My thoughts exactly. I always knew that if you had been there, you would've come with us every time," he chuckled.

"No question about it," she agreed. "And likely spent every night in detention, right along with you both," she added ruefully. His scarred hand was resting on the bed next to her, and she ran her finger along the faintly-pink scribble.

"We missed having a kindred spirit to share it all with. We missed you." He shifted to lie on the bed but turned to face her. He began to play with a curl near her ear, winding it around his finger.

Annie leaned in to kiss him. "You're sweet to say so, but forgive me if it's a bit difficult to believe. You were surrounded everywhere by magic, George. And everyone around you was magical, just like you. You got to do magic every day. I'm still amazed you managed to write to me at all."

George looked at her with a genuinely perplexed expression. "Are you remotely serious? I was shipped off to school in the dreariest place on the planet, in my opinion; separated all those long months from my home and my best friend; surrounded by a great bloody throng of strangers. I'd never been around anyone but you and my family all my life till then, remember? Not to mention sitting in those classrooms was pure torture. If it hadn't been for Fred, I would've ditched it all for good far sooner, I assure you. And I'm fairly certain he'd say the same.

"Nobody else there ever really... got the point, you know? That they were all being so idiotic - so bloody serious about every little goddamn thing, all the time. Everyone thought Fred and I were the idiots - sure, good for a laugh, but primarily just a couple of clowns. That's why we started the Wheezes: to show this stick-up-the-ass world how to lighten the hell up!"

Annie gave him a knowing smile, nodding her head. He was preaching to the choir, after all. She knew exactly how he felt.

"I've always known that about you both... and you're geniuses at it, if you ask me. You'll change the world, you know, with your Skiving Snackboxes and Canary Creams and magic fireworks. You've made it a better place to be already: a happier one. Joy and laughter are far more important than wealth or status, but the two of you will have all of it, mark my words. Probably even have your own Famous Wizard cards, before it's all said and done...."

If George hadn't been watching her earnest face the entire time, it would've been easy to assume she was just being a smart ass, just joking with him. But he could tell tonight that she wasn't, and he could barely contain the surge of emotions pulling through him at the moment.

Annie understood him - she always had, while nearly everyone else, including his own mother, had dismissed him as nothing more than a frivolous goofball. She took pride in him, in his accomplishments, as much as if they were her own. But even more than that, she felt the same way as he did about the world with an empathy deeper than reason would deem possible; a soul mate, if he believed in such a thing. Love and desire partnered to overwhelm whatever silly reason there might have been for restraint, and he took her into his arms to show her how he felt.

A couple of hours later, Annie lay wide awake, watching the moon's shadows cast on her wall slowly slide downward to the floor. She listened to George's quiet breathing as he slept, and the peaceful rhythm helped to calm her racing mind while it repeated their final conversation of the night.

After he had made love to her, the first time since before the night he was injured, he had insisted on finishing his thoughts about her security. "Annie... you told me once that you learned how to shoot a gun, right?"

"Yes. Gran sent me to the firing range for several months after I turned fourteen. I learned how to use Grandfather's old pistol. Why?"

"Where is it?" he had asked, dodging her question for a moment.

"In Gran's closet."

She had heard George pause, and felt his chest rise against her back as he took a deep breath. "Annie, it's not that I think you aren't safe, because you are. As safe as we can possibly keep you. But... well, I can't be here all the time...."

"That might start arousing Gran's suspicions, true," she had teased, desperate to lighten the mood.

George had been undeterred. "If the unthinkable were to happen.... If someone found out about us, about you, and came here...."

"George, don't worry about me..." she had tried to assure him, even though she knew it was a preposterously false sense of confidence that he would see right through. She was right: he had ignored her comment and continued, completing his previous thought.

"You would only have an instant, and that's only if you had surprise on your side. An ambush is the best option you've got. And Annie... you'd only have one shot. You must make it count.... Do you understand what I mean?"

Annie had swallowed the sour taste of fear that was rising in her throat, and nodded, rather than answer aloud.

"I think you should keep the gun here, in your room, for the time being. Can you get it? By tomorrow night?" he had persisted.

"Okay," she had whispered, struggling mightily against the urge to cry. She had refused to let him feel how her fear had begun to overpower her self-control.

"Good," he had said simply.

It had been the last thing he had said to her that night. If she hadn't been currently nestled so tightly in his arms, she'd be pacing the floor. So instead, she lay wide awake, watching the moon's shadows now slowly creeping across the floor toward her, listening to him quietly breathing.

*

The following weeks settled into a routine of sorts. Several times daily, Annie would check in with George by leaving him messages on his phone, which he would retrieve at specific hours of the day when he could escape unnoticed from whatever enchanted place he found himself. He would call her back, sharing any interesting news, and discuss the likelihood of them seeing each other that evening. It was becoming increasingly rare he was free to do much more than ring her.

For George had become quite busy lately. He and Fred spent the daytime hours struggling valiantly to keep the shop on Diagon Alley open, but it was rapidly becoming a useless gesture of defiance. Not only were they being harassed on an almost daily basis by the Death Eaters' minions - for no actual Death Eater would deign to be seen setting foot in their establishment - but there were fewer and fewer customers coming into the shop each day anyway.

And it wasn't only Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that was suffering - every shop on Diagon Alley was hurting for business. Word had begun to spread through the wizarding world: disturbing changes at the Ministry were afoot, and times were uncertain. Best to stay home, keep yourself to yourself, and keep your wits sharp about you.

The good news was that the owl order business kept them afloat. Orders were still pouring in for the defensive products they had developed even without their advertisements in the Daily Prophet, which they had pulled immediately after the filthy rag had published the names of all those muggle-born wizards wanted for questioning. And they were almost single-handedly keeping Madam Malkin in business, making cloaks, hats and gloves for them to subsequently enchant into shield devices.

After dark, however, he and Fred would set out on their latest foray into subversive behavior: aiding and abetting the growing ranks of fugitives. Ranks which they assumed likely included their own brother Ron, and his friends Harry and Hermione, at this point.

By the middle of August, the situation muggle-born wizards found themselves in was becoming dire indeed, and many had fled into hiding. George and Fred had suggested at an Order meeting that something be done to help them, and volunteered their services. They were uniquely suited for it, they argued, having perfected the fine art of creeping around undetected in the darkness, usually directly under the noses of authority.

"We could leave caches of supplies for wizards on the lam, all over the country really," suggested Fred.

"It's a waste of time and resources. How would anyone on the run be able to find them? Or even know they existed?" argued Bill.

"Easy!" cried George. "We tell them on the wireless!" He then outlined the plan that he, Fred and Lee had concocted to combat the load of rubbish that passed for news on the radio these days by broadcasting an underground program of their own. It could be secured by a rotating password, he explained, broadcast on a secret channel, and used to promote the Order's agenda to a far wider population than direct contact by members was currently doing.

"I must admit, it's an excellent plan," Remus Lupin said as he smiled at Molly and Arthur, who were looking at the youngest Order members with a mixture of worry and pride. "Well done, you three. We'll start a collection to fund the purchases of supplies, and you can get started immediately. And remember to be careful," he admonished them as they were smiling and high-fiving each other.

Annie had been keeping herself quite busy as well. Three days a week she worked full time at Dr. Dan's office as receptionist and bookkeeper, zipping home to check in and make lunch for her Gran during her midday break. Her days off were filled with doing errands - often buying supplies for the Order's subversive activities as well as her own - doing household chores, and running Gran to doctor's appointments.

Appointments that were becoming increasingly frequent, for Gran was not her usual vivacious self as fall approached. She was tired all the time, weaker, and not eating well to boot. So far, no doctor had solved the riddle, choosing instead to simply chalk it up to old age: a diagnosis Annie was unwilling to accept. She was determined to keep getting second opinions until someone started taking the symptoms seriously.

Saturdays were a bright spot of the week to look forward to. George would arrive in the morning, like he had nearly all summer long, primarily for Meredith's benefit. It was a ruse they had constructed to keep her safely in the dark, as it were. As far as she knew, George and Annie spent only Saturday mornings together, under her watchful eye, then afternoons at his parents' home, also properly supervised, and that was the end of it. Annie would report back home in time for dinner, escorted by George, occasionally inviting him to stay for the meal. Then everyone returned to their proper places for the night... or so Meredith assumed.

It wasn't something Annie was proud of, all this deception directed at her Gran, but she couldn't see any way around it. Especially now, when so much was riding on appearances; or more accurately, the complete lack thereof. George and Annie could no longer see each together in public, a point made moot by the fact that they rarely had the chance to be together before midnight anyway.

Except for Saturdays. After lunch, while Gran was lying down for her afternoon nap, George and Annie would walk out the back door, ostensibly to walk through the woods to his home. As soon as they reached the garden gate, an invisible hand would reach out for Annie's arm, and a disembodied voice would greet her.

"Hello, Annie. Ready to go?" an invisible Arthur would quietly ask her.

Annie would nod, then be plunged into the icy, black nothingness of some other dimension for an interminable instant, only to re-emerge in the friendly coziness of George's childhood home.

For three weekends in a row, George and Annie practiced side-along apparation under the watchful eyes of his parents. He had always done it so casually that Annie had had no idea of the true complexity of the process, or the dangers inherent to it. Dangers compounded by the fact that apparating while pulling along another person was not an easy thing by any means, and George was rather young to be learning it. He'd only been apparating himself for two years.

Arthur fueled Annie's anxiety further as he explained to her the possibility of splinching. "You see, if a wizard loses focus on what he's doing, he can leave a part of himself behind."

"A part of himself?" she asked nervously.

"Only a real problem if the part is very big," George joked with her. "Ron leaves bits of himself all over the place: eyebrows, fingernails, and the like. He's healed all right, most of the time."

"Maybe he's splinched his brain. That could explain a lot, you know," added Fred.

They took baby steps at first, popping from the living room to the kitchen and back. The first couple of attempts George had only been able to move himself, leaving Annie behind; once dropping her unceremoniously on the floor, to Fred's howling delight. The next twenty times were more successful however, and by the end of the first day of practice, she had for the most part overcome the terror she had felt during the time spent - elsewhere, for lack of a better word - each time they apparated.

On the second Saturday, they began attempting trips between floors of the Burrow. Molly would remain in the living room and Arthur would await them at their destination, both of them ready to perform whatever emergency spells they could if anything went wrong. It was getting easier, but all the effort was mentally and physically exhausting to them both. Near the end of the afternoon, when Annie was tired and hungry, George perversely decided to attempt their furthest jump, up to the attic, without telling her or his father.

As they popped back into being in a dingy, tiny room, Annie was greeted to a horrifying sight. A large, hideous thing wearing pajamas and munching on an unidentified something with at least five legs protruding from his mouth was staring at her. She screamed in shock.

"It's okay," yelled George immediately, to reassure the rest of the family. "It's just the ghoul frightened her! Nobody's hurt!"

Just then, likely agitated by the commotion and noise, the thing wailed loudly and tossed an old, broken chair at them. George waved his wand, repelling the chair, causing it to crash into the wall. He grabbed hold of Annie and they disapparated in the next instant.

"George! What were you thinking? You were supposed to go to the fourth floor landing, not the attic!" Molly shouted angrily when they reappeared in the living room a second later.

But he and his brother were laughing too hard to respond at first.

"You should've seen her face, Fred!" he finally cried, gasping for breath, holding his sides.

"Did you wet 'em, Annie?" Fred asked, nearly crying himself. "What's the matter? Never seen a ghoul before?"

"No, Fred; that was my third in fact!" she snapped, implying she was currently glaring at the first two. She sustained her anger for perhaps five more seconds before beginning to giggle herself.

"Bet you'll be paying for that one, George," Fred teased his brother.

"I swear I forgot about him being there, Annie. I didn't intend to scare you shitless," he explained, still laughing. "That was just a bonus."

He reached out to pull her into an apologetic hug, but yanked his arm back an instant later with a yowl. "You're more vicious than an offended hippogriff, you know that?" he complained, rubbing the tender spot where the pinch had landed.

"Oh, I didn't intend to cause you pain, George. That was just a bonus," she retorted with a smirk.

The third Saturday was more fun in one sense: the weather was fine, and they began to practice apparating across further distances outdoors. Annie and George were in much brighter spirits to be in the fresh air once again. It was quite a bit more difficult, however, requiring even more concentration because Arthur wanted George to practice extending a disillusionment charm over them both, making them invisible before and after they apparated.

"No funny business today, George," warned his mother. "You've really got to focus now."

The first time he cast the disillusionment charm, Annie couldn't stop giggling. It was an amazing sensation, glancing down at her own body and seeing nothing at all. "This is really trippy!" she laughed.

"How did you get that right the first try? When did you learn to do this spell?" Molly demanded.

"Do you really want to know, Mum?" George's disembodied voice laughed.

"No, probably not," she reconsidered, agreeing with her son.

Annie felt George squeeze her hand, heard his voice. "Ready?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"I assume you're nodding, idiot," he chuckled invisibly.

"Oh, right. Yes, I'm ready," she giggled.

The next thing she knew, they had traveled from the back door to the frog pond. She suddenly realized her feet were wet - George had overshot the mark and landed them about a step away in the wrong direction from the bank. They were standing ankle deep in the water.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed.

"Ack!" cried George in the same instant. The disillusionment charm fell away instantly as they dropped hands and scrambled out of the water.

"What did I tell you, George?" Molly scolded, appearing an instant later on the bank. "This is serious business, and you've got to concentrate!" Molly waved her wand over Annie's shoes, and they felt dry and warm once again.

"Now, try that again," she instructed.

"What about my shoes?" whined George.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Serves you right for not paying attention!" she argued.

"How am I supposed to concentrate with soggy feet?" he argued back.

"Honestly, George. How old are you, anyway? Mummy won't always be there to dry your footsies," teased Fred, who had joined them on the bank as well.

"At least tell me the spell, then," he said petulantly.

Molly chuckled. "Siccato," she spoke clearly, waving her wand over her son's shoes. "Think you can remember that one, dear?"

"Thanks, Mum," he replied in a meek, placating voice. "I think so."

"He doesn't deserve you, does he Mum?" teased Fred.

"None of you do," Molly laughed. "Bunch of ingrates, the lot! Now, off to the yard, and we'll have another go, shall we?"