George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 27: Underground

Fall 1997

Annie was taking advantage of a few dry hours early Saturday morning to do some gardening. The weather was supposed to turn wet by lunchtime, and the heavy grey clouds looked as though they might start raining at any moment. She hoped she would be able to plant all the new tulip bulbs Gran had bought through the mail, as well as clear up what was likely the last bit of weeding before a frost would make it more difficult to do so. She had already cleaned out all the dead ivy from around her bedroom window.

As she dug and prepared a bed for the bulbs, a familiar little creature came toddling over to her, and she smiled at his approach. The thing looked like an oddly-shaped potato with legs and arms. Annie had taught him to avoid Gran; but since she never came outside to the garden anymore, he knew it was safe for him to emerge from his underground den.

"Hello, Spud," she said softly, greeting the gnome George and Fred had given her for her tenth birthday, captured from their mother's garden.

"Sod off," he replied in a raspy but friendly voice, peering over her arms at the hole she was digging. He had learned a full vocabulary of insulting words from the twins before he had come to live with her, and she had been unable to rid him of the habit, nor manage to teach him any more pleasant ones in the ensuing years. She figured perhaps it required magical talents to do so, but conceded that since she thought the foul-mouthed little fellow was hilarious, it was certainly possible she had never really tried very hard.

"Cold, wet weather's coming.... Are you all ready for it this year? Need any more insulation?" she asked, smiling. Annie always made sure he had plenty of scraps of fabric to line his den with before the first frost. She began to arrange the tulip bulbs in the hole.

"Bugger," he said, nodding as he plopped down onto the ground next to her. He eyed the bulbs longingly.

"All right then... just one, mind," she warned him, while she reached into the bag and pulled out a bulb to give him. "Gran won't be pleased if she doesn't see tulips next spring. She might get a cat!"

"Shite!" he squeaked nervously, but wiggled his fingers with anticipation until the bulb was within his grasp. "Snotty snot," he said, bidding her adieu, and traipsed back to his burrow underneath the hawthorn.

Annie giggled and went back to work. After she finished planting the bulbs, she made her way around to the vegetable bed, yanking out the last few weeds from the soft, dark soil.

An odd noise made her pause. She froze for a moment, straining her ears. There it was again: a soft whine, followed by a scratching sound at the garden gate. Annie stood up and walked slowly to the gate, where she waited until she heard the sound again.

Why would a dog be trying to get into the garden? she wondered, thinking she had identified the sound. Slowly, she opened the gate to peek outside.

A beautiful, reddish-brown speckled white dog with amber eyes sat on its haunches just outside the gate. Its long coat was slightly matted and dirty, and a few dead leaves clung to its belly. It looked up at her expectantly.

"Where on earth have you come from?" she wondered aloud.

The dog uttered a single bark, as if responding to her question.

"Oh, well, that clears it up," she said sarcastically.

The dog made a move as if to enter the garden, then sat back down. As if it was asking to be invited in.

"All right then; come in if you like," she said, amused, taking a step backward.

The dog scampered inside the gate, then darted about the garden, nose down, as if on the trail of something. After half a minute, it honed in on the hawthorn, whining and digging at the soil underneath it.

"NO!" said Annie sharply, worried for her little friend. "Away from there!"

Immediately the dog stopped what it was doing and trotted over to her, then sat down at her feet, looking up at her, as if awaiting another command.

"Lie down," she said, testing it.

Instantly, the dog obeyed.

"Roll over?"

Like a show dog, it rolled over. She discovered the dog was male at this point.

"Speak."

He sat up and replied with a single bark.

"Shake hands?" she said, crouching down and offering her hand. The dog placed his paw in hers.

Gently, she reached out with her other hand so he could sniff her. He did so, then gave her hand a few friendly licks. Clearly, this was an extremely well-trained dog, and she imagined its owner was likely frantic with worry. Other than a bit of road wear from his travels, he appeared healthy and otherwise well-cared-for. She set his paw down and began to inspect his collar. She reached out for the tag: it read "Michael" and had a phone number.

"Michael?" she asked him for confirmation.

He jumped up and spun around before sitting down again.

"Nice to meet you," she said, giggling. "You're a bit of a show-off, aren't you?"

With another answering bark, the dog lay down on the ground, head on his front paws, as if pouting.

"Only teasing," she said as she stood up and began fishing her phone out of her pocket. She kept it with her at all times now, in order to catch any call George might make to her. "Don't get all bent," she said.

The dog scooted himself around until its hindquarters faced her, then looked back at her over his shoulder. He lifted an eyebrow and twitched its ears.

Great, she thought. Yet another smart-ass in my life.

She dialed the phone number from the dog's tag, only to hear a recorded message informing her that the number had been disconnected. "That's odd," she muttered, carefully dialing the number again as she read it directly from the tag, just to make sure. The same recording answered. She gazed curiously at the dog, who sat up and cocked his head right back at her. "I wonder what your story is?" she asked him.

Annie could've sworn she saw the dog shrug.

The air began to fill with mist. She considered for a moment what to do with the dog, and decided it would be cruel to send him away with bad weather coming. "I hope you're housebroken, as well," she said, waving for him to follow her into the house.

"What's this?" exclaimed Gran as the two of them tromped into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Gran, meet Michael. He's a vagabond and a performer, apparently. The number on the tag is disconnected," she said, relaying all the information she had gleaned so far. "Any idea if he belongs to anyone in town?"

"Not a clue...." Gran harrumphed. "Michael, eh? Saint or archangel?" she asked him, patting his head.

The dog put his paw gently on Gran's knee and whined.

Annie giggled. "It's almost like he can understand us. I've never seen anything like it!"

"What's your story, little one?" Gran murmured, holding his chin.

Michael smiled at her with his tongue lolling out.

"I already asked him that, and he's not telling," Annie said. "I've got to run to the market today anyway.... If you don't mind, I'll pick up some things for him as well," Annie said, obliquely asking her Gran if it was okay to keep the dog, at least for the time being.

Gran looked at Annie out of the corner of her eye. "Hmmpf. I suppose it's just coincidence you've wanted a dog all your life, and here's one I'm in no position to say no to," she said dubiously.

"I could take him to the shelter, if you really object," Annie said, smiling in victory.

Gran snorted, dismissing the suggestion. "Make sure you get some sweet-smelling shampoo, and promise to give him a bath as soon as you get back," she replied, wrinkling her nose at the dirty-wet-dog smell now filling the kitchen.

Michael did a little happy dance, wagging his tail and darting between the two women as they laughed at his antics.

Annie began to busy herself with making lunch, while Michael rested his head on Gran's lap, accepting her petting. He politely lay down quietly at their feet while they ate; refraining from begging for table scraps, even though Annie figured he had to be hungry.

After Annie cleared the dishes, she made her way to the back door. Michael leapt up to follow her. "You want to come?" she asked.

Michael's answering yelp nearly sounded like a "Yep!" and he seemed to nod his head.

"All right, then. Let's go," she said, smiling.

Together they dashed outside through the rain to the truck. Michael hopped into the cab and sat down on the passenger side like he had done it every day of this life. She was surprised by how happy she felt to have the company.

"I hope you don't expect anyone to invite you into the store," she warned him as she turned the key and the engine roared to life. They drove through town to the market on the far side and the dog watched the houses and buildings go by with interest, as if it was all new to him. Annie cracked the windows for him while she went inside and did their shopping for the week, adding a leash, bowl, bag of food, bottle of shampoo and brush for Michael.

"New puppy, dear?" the cashier asked.

"Sort of," Annie replied.

Michael barked and danced with animated happiness when she returned to the truck with his new supplies. He laid his head on her lap as they drove home.

Nearly half an hour later, while she was elbow deep in soapy water giving the dog a bath, her phone rang.

"George!" she cried, happy as always to hear from him, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. "I have a dog!"

"What?" he laughed.

"A dog! A stray showed up at the garden gate this morning, and invited himself in."

"A stray, huh?" he asked, sounding a bit less enthusiastic.

"He's amazing," she said, hoping to elicit more excitement from him. "The smartest dog I've ever met. It's almost like he can talk!"

"He can talk?!" asked George, now clearly alarmed.

"Well, no, obviously. Not actually. He's a dog," explained Annie, confused by George's reaction.

There was a pause, then George continued. "Is it all right if I come over for a bit?"

"What.... Now?" she asked, suddenly excited by the prospect of seeing him so soon. And in daylight hours, if the rainy gloom of the day could actually qualify as daylight. "Of course. You know you're welcome anytime," she said, smiling with anticipation.

"And your Gran?" he asked. It was code for asking if he could apparate directly inside the house, or if he had to visit via the garden.

"Napping," she said, pulling the stopper out of the tub and draining the water.

"See you in a minute, then," he said, and the call clicked off.

Annie turned on the shower to rinse the lather from Michael's coat. He stood up and placed his body as cooperatively as possible within the stream of warm water. She was still drying him off in the bathroom when she heard the quietest of pops from her bedroom across the hall.

Michael's head immediately jerked alert and he darted, still wet, out of her arms toward the sound. By the time she scrambled up from the bathroom floor and dashed after him, he had already introduced himself to George. He was standing on his hind legs, front paws on George's leg, sniffing him.

George stood still as a statue, hands in his jacket pockets, looking down sternly at the dog.

"Michael, down," she commanded in a whisper. The dog immediately obeyed, sitting at George's feet, panting. "Isn't he amazing?" she asked him softly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he reminded her.

Annie sighed. Inspired by her other visitor of the day, she asked him the required question. "Tenth?"

"Hmm." He looked suspiciously at the dog. Instead of answering out loud, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Wind-up set of chattering teeth," he replied with a smile. "And you - the same..." he added, leaning his ear down to her.

"Spud the Insulting Garden Gnome," she whispered back, then giggled and kissed George in greeting.

"George, this is Michael the Wonder Dog," she introduced them.

Michael cocked his head and raised one eyebrow.

George looked at the dog with a stone face, staring at him like a judge would examine a convicted felon. "When did he get here?" he asked finally.

"This morning. I was outside gardening..."

"Where did he come from?" George interrupted.

"Dunno. He was dirty and had a few leaves in his coat, so I would guess the forest at some point," she explained.

George bent down, looking the dog directly in the eyes. Michael averted his gaze in submission, refusing to look directly back, but otherwise held his ground. George examined the tag on his collar. "Did you call the number?"

"Disconnected."

George pursed his lips, not pleased with her answer.

"What's wrong?" Annie asked, thoroughly confused. Did he not like dogs for some reason?

George glanced distrustfully at the dog.

Annie wondered if he was worried about speaking in front of him. "Do you want him to leave the room?" she asked teasingly.

"He'd likely be able to hear anyway," George replied with all seriousness, shaking his head slightly, much to Annie's shock. After a short pause, he continued softly. "Do you remember a long time ago, that night in Dartmoor, when we talked about permanent kinds of magic?"

Annie nodded. "Like Dark magic," she answered, beginning to feel alarmed.

"I think... it's possible... this dog could be an Animagus," he whispered.

"A spy?" she cried softly. Michael responded by lying down, putting his head on his paws, and whimpering.

"It happens. Remember Scabbers?" he asked.

Did Annie remember Scabbers? The long-lived pet rat that turned out to be the wizard Peter Pettigrew: mass murderer, traitor, and servant of You-Know-Who? "Oh my God, George! Really?" she gasped.

George shrugged and stared hard at the dog.

Michael responded by cocking his head again, then panting and letting his tongue hang out of his mouth.

"How do we find out for sure?" she asked.

George pursed his lips again. "I dunno. Maybe Dad knows."

"Should we walk him over to your place?" she asked.

George shook his head. "If he is what I think he might be, that would be a mistake," he said pointedly.

Annie nodded in understanding. It would be unwise in the extreme for Annie and George to bring another wizard in disguise to the Burrow, the current secret headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and possibly break the guarding spell. If in fact that was what Michael turned out to be.

"How about I meet you both at the old fort in about fifteen minutes?" he offered.

"Okay." Annie nodded.

"See you in a bit," he said, leaning in to give her a kiss goodbye. "Don't worry," he said, smiling slightly. "We'll figure it out, one way or another. Everything will be fine," he assured her. Then with one last distrustful glance back at the dog, he disapparated.

Annie sat on the floor next to Michael. He looked at her, put a paw on her leg, and nuzzled her ear with his wet, cold nose.

"Are you a wizard?" she whispered as she scratched his ears.

Michael sneezed, shaking his head, as if responding negatively to her query.

"I hope not," she said. "Or at least, if you are one - be on our side, okay?"

The dog whimpered once, licked her cheek, then trotted to the back door and sat, awaiting her. Annie clipped the leash on his collar, left a brief note for her Gran on the table, and pulled on her raincoat.

Annie and Michael made their way slowly across the open field, neither of them in any hurry to get to the rendezvous point despite the rain. As they approached the fort, she could see George and his father waiting for them, eyes wary and wands drawn.

They're afraid of him! Annie thought, startled by what she now desperately hoped was an overreaction on their part. In the few short hours she had known him, she had already grown attached to the dog's friendly, comforting presence.

"George, what is going on?" she asked worriedly.

"Annie, drop the leash and come to me," he said quietly.

"Wait! What are you going to do to him?" she cried, stepping between Michael and the threatening men.

"We won't hurt him," Arthur assured her. "At least, not without provocation," he added, directing this last part of his response to the dog.

"Come here, Annie," George repeated. It was a gentle command, but a command all the same.

Reluctantly, she set the leash down. She crouched, meeting Michael's questioning gaze. "Sorry," she said as she patted his head. "Please just be a dog," she pleaded in a whisper, then stood up and commanded him to stay.

George took her hand as soon as she was close enough and pulled her behind him. Meanwhile his wand remained aimed at the dog.

"Reveal your true form!" commanded Arthur.

Michael cocked his head and wagged his tail, but never moved from his seated position. The standoff lasted a whole minute.

Next, Arthur cast a silent spell at the dog with a flourish of his wand. The flash of light startled Annie and she uttered a small cry, starting toward the dog. George held her in place, behind him, with one arm. Michael was also startled; he flinched but still remained in the spot where Annie had commanded him.

Thankfully, he remained a dog.

"Are you satisfied yet?" she asked impatiently. She didn't like how she felt inside right now, as if she was betraying a friend's trust for no apparent reason.

"Dad?" asked George.

"Seems to be a dog to me," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But you were right to come to me with this. We can't afford not to be on our guard right now."

Annie released Michael from the stay command by patting her thighs. He bounded over to her, jumping up on her and smiling as if very pleased by his own performance. Annie giggled and rubbed his ears roughly, then pushed him gently back to the ground.

"Thanks, Dad," George offered as his father said goodbye and disapparated, leaving the two of them alone in the woods. Michael dashed to the spot where Arthur had been a moment ago, excitedly looking around and sniffing.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked Annie with a half-smile.

"No. Not really. I hate that we're turning into this, though. Suspicious of every little thing," she answered honestly.

George nodded in understanding and agreement. "A life of paranoia and covert operations isn't quite what it's cracked up to be in the spy movies, is it?"

Annie snorted. "Not quite. But it's worth it, I suppose. The alternative is completely unacceptable, at any rate," she said as they embraced.

Michael shook the rain from his coat and barked in annoyance as they began to kiss.

George chuckled. "I guess he has some hard feelings," he teased.

"Come over tonight.... Make it up to him," Annie coaxed.

"Make it up to him, or to you?" George smiled at her.

"Both," she said, kissing him again. "Okay... mostly me."

*

The situation was getting out of control, and she was definitely going to have to do something about it. Tonight was as good a time as any, she figured. Time to put a stop to this obnoxious harassing behavior before George found out about it.

Her worst fear was that the idiot would call when George was with her. Granted, this was unlikely considering the hours she and George were currently keeping, but who knew? Neither good manners nor common sense were Stephen's strong points. She did not want to incite some sort of chest-thumping male ego contest, or give George any motivation to do something reckless, putting himself at risk. Or, even worse: give him the slightest reason to doubt her feelings for him.

She listened to the voicemail message, feeling her blood pressure rise as she did. "Come out tonight. I'll be at the old school hall, boxing some cop for charity's sake. You know you'd love a chance to see me get my ass kicked, unlikely as that may be...."

She pushed the button that would delete the message, erasing Stephen's voice from her phone. There was no purpose in listening further. Nothing he could possibly say would change her mind about him. He was a self-absorbed, manipulative jerk, and she never wanted to see him again, if she could help it.

But something had to be done. Simply refusing to accept any more of his calls wasn't making the message plain enough, apparently. And it was infuriating, that tone of smugness he had. Her reaction to it so completely the opposite of how she felt when George good-naturedly baited her. It was a tempting offer, to be there as witness to Stephen getting his just desserts.

Any reason to escape this house was a welcome thing, she had to admit; even one as lame, as dubious as this one. She and George had been good as gold so far this autumn. Not once had they gone out together where they could be seen, or more importantly, recognized by whoever might be watching.

How could they? Just like tonight, George spent the majority of every evening out on a mission for the Order. Her very own personal hero: out saving the world of unsuspecting muggles and cowering wizards from an evil menace. The thought made her smile and cringe at the same time.

George's subversive evening activities left them primarily the hours between midnight and dawn to be together. Whenever possible, usually several times a week, he would pop directly into her bedroom from wherever he had been that night. They would lie in her bed then, talking, dozing, kissing - which sometimes led to more - but they were careful not to risk that too often.

And nearly always in the dark, it seemed, for fear of watching eyes. She had almost forgotten what he looked like in daylight. There was so much sneaking around now; hiding from his parents, her Gran, the possibility of enemy spies. Far from being sexy or exciting, it was demoralizing, and beginning to drive her mad.

Stop it! she scolded herself. What was the alternative? Give him up? Risk his safety? Time to grow up, already, and stop complaining! The love of her life spent every possible minute he could with her - wasn't that enough?

Back to the issue at hand: Stephen and his annoying, ego-fueled phone calls had to be stopped, once and for all. Michael was dozing on her bed and barely acknowledged her exit with a twitch of his ear. She said goodbye to Gran and Mrs. Finnerty on her way out of the kitchen, promising to return within an hour or so, and drove off toward the school.

She was further incensed to see Stephen was waiting outside the entrance, scanning the crowd, searching for her. That's the final straw, she thought angrily, her blood beginning to boil. How thick could he be?

She had been rude to the point of cruelty, she reckoned, over the past several weeks while he had called repeatedly to 'apologize' for what had happened at Geoff's wake more than a year ago. How could that have been too subtle? Perhaps a large piece of timber forcefully applied to his temple was required to deliver the message?

She marched up to him with a scowl on her face. At least he had the decency to replace his initial inane grin when he first saw her with something more appropriately chagrined upon seeing her black expression.

"We need to talk," she said sternly.

"Right," he answered dejectedly.

What possible hope could he still be nursing? she wondered. After everything that has gone wrong between us?

They took a few steps away from the traffic lanes of people making their way inside. Annie stopped before they went too far out of sight, unwilling to be completely alone with him for any reason. He turned around to face her but didn't speak, like he wasn't looking forward to saying what was on his mind. Annie decided to unload her own thoughts instead.

"Stop calling me, Stephen. I'm not interested. I love George, and he loves me. End of story."

"He keeps you under lock and key now, doesn't he? You never come out anymore to the pub," he argued, trying to get under her skin.

The look on his face was a familiar one to her: he had not been paying any attention at all to what she was saying. His mind was entirely focused on his own agenda.

She brought the hammer down on what she hoped was the final nail. "We're engaged."

Stephen's eyes narrowed. "I don't see a ring."

Annie huffed in frustration, folding her arms in front of her chest, self-consciously hiding her hands. She and George had had a similar discussion once the dust had settled a bit after Bill's wedding. George had asked her if she wanted a diamond ring, which was a muggle rather than wizarding tradition. She had been against it: arguing they didn't need anything to draw more attention to their relationship for the time being. George had reluctantly agreed with her.

"I'm not exactly a jewelry sort of person, Stephen. Doesn't change anything. We're going to be married."

Stephen ran his fingers through his bushy red hair, looking anywhere but at her. "Look, that's not really what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, then sighed.

I bet not, she thought uncharitably. "Fine. Get it off your chest. I will listen, then I will leave, and we will not see each other again. You will not call me anymore, understand?" she snapped.

"Jesus Christ, yes! Your bitchy attitude isn't making this very easy, okay?"

Perhaps she would be the one to kick his ass tonight, she fumed. Her palms itched to smack his face. She clenched her jaw and stared at him with thinly veiled fury.

"And stop staring at me with your witchy death-ray eyes," he barked.

Oh, Stephen. If you only knew.... She looked instead at a brick in the wall behind and above his head.

"Look, I get it: you're pissed. And you're not interested in me. Frankly, sweetheart, I figured that out a while ago."

"Then why am I here?" she spat through clenched teeth. He knew the sweetheart thing would have to be driving her berserk.

"So I can apologize, for chrissake! Yes, believe it or not, I realize I've been a real asshole to you, among others, over the years. Not a very good friend. Losing my chance with you, and then Geoff getting killed, has made me realize some things about myself. I'm a dick, and I'm sorry, all right?"

"Oh." She was truly shocked. She'd never imagined Stephen was capable of introspection.

"It's not like you were nothing but a saintly victim in this situation, either. If you hated us so much, why did you keep coming 'round? You were using us as well - using me, weren't you?" he asked accusatorially.

"Probably," she admitted, nodding reluctantly. Despite the fact nearly every bone in her body rebelled to say it, Stephen was right. She had been desperate at the time for something to take her mind off of missing her twin friends, for something to occupy her time while they were gone. Stephen and his gang of hooligans were a flimsy substitution for Fred's and George's friendship, and she had disloyally abandoned her muggle companions without explanation the instant her magical ones reappeared each summer. Despite her assumptions to the contrary, Stephen had noticed he never came first in her life. Realizing such rejection might have hurt his feelings, she felt a momentary pang of regret.

Stephen let a few moments pass in silence then asked her a question. "You kissed me once, remember? Why?"

"I don't know." Actually, not being such a stranger to introspection, she knew that wasn't true. Perhaps she owed Stephen an explanation, if not an apology of her own. But what could she tell him that wasn't far too dangerous to reveal? "It's complicated," she added with a sigh.

Oops. Wrong answer. She had to stamp out that tiny spark of hope that just lit into his eyes. "Not for the reason you're thinking, sorry. Look, we were fifteen, bored, and curious. That's all it was. The bottom line is: kissing you helped me realize what I really wanted, and it wasn't you. Again, I'm sorry for that, if I led you on." She carefully avoided any thought of the horrific fallout afterward, how the last vestige of her reputation in Ottery had been ruined, not wanting to incite herself to murder at the moment.

"And you've got that now - what you want?" he asked.

"Everything and more. No question about it," she replied without hesitation.

Stephen paused and smiled ruefully. "Funny. That kiss showed me everything I ever wanted, as well."

Annie shrugged. She didn't believe it for one second. It was just another manipulative thing to say, another attempt to make her feel wretched. There was nothing she could say in response that wouldn't either give him false hope, or be overly cruel.

"For what it's worth, I wish you all the best," he added, reaching out to give her a parting hug.

"Thanks. You, too," she offered, taking a few steps backward to avoid the embrace. She wouldn't be making that mistake again. Annie turned and walked back to her truck without a backward glance.

*

"I'm very disappointed. Didn't know you were such a kiss-ass. Percy would be pleased."

Annie spat a whispered swear at George. She knew being compared to Percy was a low blow from him, even though she had never met his elder brother.

George snorted. "Kiss your Gran with that mouth? Tsk tsk."

Annie shoved a heavy bag of groceries into his arms. It contained all the ingredients for dinner tonight; she had offered to cook for the Weasleys in honor of Molly's birthday today.

"I'm not your pack horse!" he grumbled.

"Bye Gran, bye Mrs. Finnerty. See you about eight, I expect," she called toward the front room in a light, cheery voice that didn't correspond with the glowering look on her face.

"Bye, dear!" came two answering ladies' voices. Annie smiled, happy to see her Gran up and out of bed for once. She had been so tired lately. The prospect of an evening of cards and gossip with her dear friend and neighbor had cheered her immensely.

She turned back to George with a stern look. "Your mother deserves a night off. It must be excruciating for her, stuck in that house with no one but you lot all day for company. Poor dear must be stark raving mad by now," she argued in a whisper.

Michael trotted into the kitchen from where he had been napping, keeping the ladies in the front room company. George and Annie both patted him on the head as they walked through the back door.

They left the house and climbed into the truck. It was a complicated process now, to get to the Burrow. First they drove off in the truck, for Gran's benefit - they couldn't exactly disapparate from the kitchen in front of her. But neither could they risk a muggle truck being spotted at the Burrow, for they were never sure if they were being watched. Usually, they parked it at different random spots on the side of a road, then apparated once they were out of sight and invisible.

"Hope you don't get splinched, prat," George taunted her just as they were about to disapparate.

Annie knew he was teasing, but that thought was never a welcome one as the oppressive blackness hit her and she fell into whatever dimension they passed through on their way. She never liked it much to begin with, but was forced to travel this way rather often these days.

"Bloody knob," she huffed under her breath and forcefully jabbed her elbow into his ribs as they found themselves rematerialized at the back door of the Burrow.

She usually loved the predominant smart-ass streak in George, but he had been getting quite shirty with her lately. She understood his aggravation at being forced to remain hidden in his home; his only opportunity to escape his hen-pecking mother was to work on their owl-order business at his unlikable Aunt Muriel's house, or off on what he described as a "boring, safe, and stupid" routine Order mission after dark. Understanding his mood only made it slightly more tolerable, however.

Captivity did not sit well with George, and she could tell he was itching for a victim on which to unleash his frustrations. Annie realized this probably meant she had a target on her back. She had had higher hopes for tonight - it felt like ages since she was last in Molly's cozy kitchen for nothing but a simple, friendly visit. Not to mention forever since she and George had seen each other before midnight. It had been a week since they had seen each other at all.

George dumped the bags onto the kitchen table and sat down noisily, looking quite put upon. Molly hugged her in welcome.

At least someone in the room seemed happy she was here, Annie thought. "I know it's not easy to let someone else putter in your kitchen, Molly," she began.

"Don't be silly dear. Nicest thing anyone's done for me in the longest time. No one else even raises a finger to help around here," she said as she cast a disparaging look toward George, who smirked in response.

"My pleasure," Annie replied. "I'll still need your help operating the stove, but otherwise, sit back and relax."

Molly was beaming at her. George looked utterly disgusted and rolled his eyes. Fred sauntered in, said hello to Annie, and then joined his mother and brother at the table.

Annie set to work. Behind her, she could hear Molly continue nagging the boys about chores that needed to be done around the house. She had to admit being badgered like that all day long would have driven her batty as well, and felt a pang of sympathy for both twins.

Then something began zapping Annie's ear, like a tiny, electrically charged mosquito. All sympathetic feelings dissipated as she closed her eyes for a few moments, willing herself to resist the urge to swat at it and give him the pleasure of seeing her irritated. She forcefully kept her focus on the potato she was peeling instead.

As she reached for the next one, she watched as the peelings from the first potato wrapped themselves back around it.

"Oh, come on," she muttered in frustration under her breath: she bet he could hear her.

She tried peeling another one, with the same results. Fine. It would be mashed potatoes with peel, then. She started chopping one roughly, tossing the pieces into a small pot.

As soon as she reached for the next potato, all the chopped bits began to float up and out of the pot, swirling around each other in midair like asteroids in orbit. "Not funny," she whispered, biting her lips to quell the amused smile before it spread visibly across her face.

Suddenly, the cubes all crashed loudly into the pot, splashing her with water. She sighed audibly as she grabbed a towel to mop up the mess.

She turned now to the carrots. The peelings stayed in the sink this time, to her relief. A relief that turned out to be short-lived, however, until one carrot started attacking her, rapping her knuckles, as she tried to chop the first one.

"That's it!" she hissed, spinning around to face the table, rubbing her painful hands.

Both boys were carefully looking at their mother with innocent expressions, apparently listening intently to Molly's current rant.

"What's wrong dear?" Molly asked, surprised and curious.

Annie didn't answer, only glared at the boys.

"Serves her right, eh?" Fred muttered under his breath in George's direction.

George responded with a smug look.

Molly caught the exchange between her sons, unbeknownst to them. She glanced toward the sink and noted the carrot still jabbing Annie roughly in the back.

Annie watched the expression on Molly's face swiftly change from curiosity to suspicion and finally to vengeance as a plan instantly formed in her mind.

"I'm warning you two: stop this nonsense this instant!" their mother scolded.

"What do you mean?" and, "Didn't do anything!" the twins protested. The innocent looks were replaced by ones full of indignation.

"Culpablo!" snapped Molly, her wand instantaneously appearing in her hand.

"Ouch!" George yanked his hand out of his pocket, vigorously shaking it like he had just received an electric shock. His right hand was turning red before their eyes.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, George! Apologize to Annie this instant!" Molly demanded.

"Why d'you always blame me?" George whined, persisting with the shocked innocence defense.

"Shameful," Fred chimed in, shaking his head in an attempt to egg his mother on.

"You're no better! Out of my sight!" Molly barked.

Fred and George both rose from the table, laughing at their cleverness.

"Oh, no! Not you, George. You'll be helping Annie now."

Fred laughed harder as he strolled out of the kitchen. George shrugged and walked toward Annie. A malicious grin appeared on his face once it was beyond Molly's line of sight.

"Hand it over," commanded Molly from behind his back.

George spun around back to face his mother, a confused look on his face.

"Your wand. Give it to me. Clearly, you can't be trusted with it," she said, holding out her empty hand.

The confusion turned to disbelief. "You're joking!" he cried.

"Accio wand!" Molly shrieked.

George's wand flew out of his pocket and into her hand.

Molly pointed with her finger at the sink with a stabbing motion and a scowl on her face. "Chop!" she commanded her son. Then she turned to Annie, smiling. "He's all yours now dear. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble."

George was standing in the middle of the kitchen, still spluttering, paralyzed in shock. Annie, who had been just as stunned as George, began to giggle. George shot her a glare as his mother gave him a shove toward the sink.

Reluctantly, he began to chop the carrots, while Annie started on a pie crust. "Done," he grunted after almost a minute of work.

Annie glanced over to the pile of carrot pieces. He was apparently going to attempt to punish her with incompetence. She smiled sweetly, feeling full of mischief herself now that she had Molly on her side. "Hmm.... These are too big. Make them smaller," Annie instructed him.

The look on George's face told her he'd like to see her try to make him do it.

"George?" asked Molly in a warning tone from her seat at the table.

George scowled at Annie as she laughed. "Ah, ah, ah - be nice now. Show me a smile."

He stuck out his tongue at her.

"That's much better!" she teased.

George spent a minute more chopping before he quit again, folding his arms on his chest in a pout.

Annie made a show of inspecting his work. "I've certainly seen better, but I suppose that will do."

"What next dear?" asked Molly, who was clearly enjoying this as much as Annie. "Pots need stirring?"

"Er, no," Annie chuckled. "The intent is for you to enjoy your birthday meal, which could be difficult if it's poisoned. I'll take it from here. Just sit here on this stool and keep me company, George. I do so love your cheerful face."

He did so with a dark look.

Molly did everything in her power to make her son squirm. All she and Annie talked about were fashion (That skirt looks lovely on you dear. Is that jumper wool or cotton? I do love to knit, you know...), recipes (I do like a bit of rosemary with the beef, don't you?), and romantic stories of Molly and Arthur's days of courtship at Hogwarts.

George spent the entire time shooting looks at Annie promising painful revenge. She couldn't help but smile back at him. It was difficult to remember back to a time when she had been quite so entertained.

"All right, George. You may set the table now," directed Molly. She continued to harass her son throughout the dinner, requiring him to perform all the serving duties: second helpings, refilling beverages, clearing the table, all without the use of his wand.

Annie was starting to feel pity for him in his sullen misery by the time the meal was finished. While the rest of the family sat in the living room listening to the wireless, she walked into the kitchen with George's wand hidden in her waistband. Molly had slipped it to her during dinner when he was in the other room, with a warning to be careful not to point it at anything valuable.

She found George standing at a sink full of sudsy water, pouting. "I'll wash, you dry," she offered. She was willing to help him the old-fashioned way, but not so stupid as to surrender her only advantage.

"You're enjoying this far too much for your own good," he grumbled as he took the last dish from her dripping hands.

"Careful now - don't say something you're going to regret," she warned him playfully.

"She can't protect you forever," he retorted, unamused. "Just remember, paybacks are a..."

"Oh, dear. You had to go and spoil it, didn't you?" she interrupted him, shaking her head. "Molly! Need anything else?" she called out, looking smugly at George.

"Couldn't keep his mouth shut, then?" Molly answered from the front room. "Oh, well. Some more wood for the fire would be nice, I suppose."

George threw the towel on the counter and stomped off out the back door. Annie followed him out, skipping coyly.

It was a surprisingly warm night, for so late in the fall, and they didn't even need jackets. The cloudy sky glowed a deep ruddy purple to the west where the sun had set a short while ago. She casually leaned back against the fence, in front of him, and watched him split a few pieces of wood.

"Despicable - hiding behind my mother like that. Where's your self-respect?" he needled her.

Annie made a show of looking all around her. "Oh, I'm not hiding from anybody." She carefully pulled out the wand from its hiding place and spun it between her fingers, in front of him. "I suppose you want this back?"

"How long have you had it?" he asked gruffly and held out his hand.

Annie shook her head. "Not yet, I think. I'm having far too much fun for my own good, as you said."

George smiled now, accepting her invitation to play. "I could just take it back, you know."

"Hmm. I rather doubt that, actually. No tricks to help you now, Magic Boy." She twirled his wand in lazy circles in the air.

George lunged at her but missed. Annie had anticipated the move, easily dancing out of his reach. They had played similar games since they were children and she knew his tactics too well. He chased her briefly, but she managed to stay just ahead of him. They stopped after a minute, breathing a little harder now, cheeks flushed.

"Maybe you should try asking nicely?" she offered.

"Please?" he said insincerely as he held out his hand.

Annie shook her head and tsked, unsatisfied.

He rolled his eyes, and tried again. "May I have it please?"

"And perhaps add an apology? For your horrid behavior toward me this evening?" she baited him.

He gave her a half smile, and a look that told her he wasn't ready for the game to end either, and would not capitulate just yet. "Sorry. Please."

"Surely you can do better than that," she urged. Clicking her tongue again, she began to draw the point of the wand slowly down her throat, her breastbone, down to her navel. It emitted a few tiny sparks along the way. "Ooh," she exclaimed quietly.

George's eyes widened slightly, taking in the show. Just the reaction she was looking for. Then he emitted an expansive, put-upon sigh, and began to speak. "I'm sorry for...?"

"Torturing me," she prompted. She lightly tapped her chest with the wand, indicating the identity of the victim.

"I'm sorry for torturing you."

His voice was low and quiet. He began taking slow, cautious steps toward her. She could see she had lit a fire now burning in his eyes.

"Please may I have my wand back?"

"Hmm," she mused, resting the tip of the wand on her lips, mimicking how she would sometimes tap her finger there while thinking. "Still sounding a bit forced, I'm afraid. Not very sincere. Try again."

Another sigh. "I'm sorry..."

"On your knees, I think," she interrupted him. "And make it really heartfelt. I want to be moved," she taunted.

George fell onto his knees at her feet, smiling up at her. In a soft, pleading voice, he spoke, more patronizingly than sincere. "I am ever so sorry for torturing you, my love. Please may I have my wand back?"

Annie was confident they were no longer talking about the wand. She bit her lip, then smiled as she gently tucked the wand into her cleavage. "Come and get it then."

George rose to his feet, his body inches from hers, and slowly withdrew the wand from its momentary resting place. Annie felt a thrill of electricity that was not entirely due to the wand being reunited with its master.

He pressed her tightly against his body with his left arm. "You ought to be more careful," he said as he drew the wand along her jawline. "In the wrong hands, this thing can be quite dangerous," he warned, pressing the tip of it into the flesh of her throat just slightly.

"Ooh. Promise you'll show me sometime," she cooed sarcastically. She had already demonstrated, with explosive force, what a wand could do in her hands.

"No time like the present." He fell to kissing her passionately.

He lifted her up bodily while still kissing her and carried her a short distance toward a small nearby building, out of view of the house's windows. He pressed her back against the rough surface of a stone wall covered in bare, dormant vines.

"Inside?" she asked breathlessly.

"Spiders," he offered as an explanation, without skipping a moment of a kiss.

Annie braced herself with her arms against the wall, felt a vine jab her back repeatedly through her thin sweater. She had wrapped her legs around George's waist, her skirt hiked up indecently. There would be no stopping him now, even if she had the slightest inkling to do so. This was what she wanted, after all, and she had done exactly what she had to do to get it. Two weeks was far too long to go without....

It was over quickly. As they both leaned against the side of the tiny building, catching their breaths, Annie's conscience came alive once more and she was mortified by her own behavior. "What... was that?" she asked him, gasping and bewildered.

"How can you... expect me... to resist... such a performance?" he answered between breaths, his head leaning against the wall next to her ear. She could tell from his expression that he was equally shocked by what they had just done.

Annie brought her hand to her forehead and looked away. He was right: she had incited him mercilessly. She was searching within herself, casting about for some excuse that could help her feel better about what had just happened... outdoors... against a shed... at George's mother's birthday dinner! It was no good: her behavior had been irresponsible and disrespectful. Didn't she have some scrap of self control?

"This has got to stop," she muttered to herself.

"You don't want to... do this... anymore?"

She glanced at George's worried face, immediately saw that he had misunderstood her. "No, I don't mean that. Of course that part is... amazing." Irresistible, obviously, she chided herself. "It's all the sneaking around. I hate it!"

George nodded slowly, considering what she had said. "I just don't see any other option, right now. Anything else is.... Would put us - you, me, my family - in danger," he said after a few moments.

Annie nodded. She knew all about the danger. More than she had ever wanted to know, in fact. And because of that knowledge, she was part of it now. As a muggle with her particular awareness of the magical world, she would be a target for persecution, as well as George and his family. But that was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the list of crimes the Weasleys were currently involved in.

"The Ministry's rounding up wizards just because they have muggle parents, putting them in prison," he added softly. He held her face to his, stroking her cheek with his fingers. "You know how I feel about you! We'd be married tomorrow, if it wasn't for...." He trailed off, not voicing the rest of the thought.

"I know," she reassured him quietly, gave him a gentle kiss. She stroked his slightly shaggy hair; he was in the process of growing it out to cover the missing ear. "And getting married would create far more problems than it would solve, anyway," she admitted.

George grimaced at the truth of her statement. She knew how much it pained him: the fact that they were forced to hide their love like it was something to be ashamed of. Their engagement was still a secret from everyone, for what was the point of celebrating something that had no reasonable chance of happening in the foreseeable future, anyway?

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who lacks the moral fiber to say no," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Moral fiber?" he laughed.

She gave him a confused look - apparently it was some private joke she didn't know.

They had righted themselves now, and had begun to readjust mussed up clothes and hair. He had been helping by brushing debris from the back of her sweater. He paused and hugged her around the waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Moral fiber's highly overrated, love. I can see I'll just have to work that much harder next time, to distract you from that guilty conscience of yours."

"Next time? You're being presumptuous," she teased back.

He kissed her neck, sending chills traveling down her body into the pit of her stomach. Already! So soon after...? It wasn't fair, the hold he had on her. Like gravitational pull. She inhaled deeply, willing her mind back in control.

He chuckled to feel her body respond, even despite her wishes to the contrary. "Not presumptuous.... Let's call it confidence, shall we? You can't say no to me, remember?" he said softly, brushing his lips against her ear.

"George? Annie? Time for cake and presents, you two!" they both heard his father call out.

Arthur's voice was like a bucket of cold water, dousing them with a more appropriate mental focus. They walked inside without touching each other again, to better diffuse any suspicions in the house, as well as keep their own responses under control.

Fred wasn't fooled however. He took one look at them as they walked by, wrinkled his nose in disgusted disbelief and rolled his eyes.

Thankfully, Molly and Arthur had busied themselves cutting and serving the cake and missed his display.

As Annie sat down at the table, she felt Fred briefly brush her back with his hand. He walked around behind her to sit directly across the table from her, next to his brother. The look on his face further fueled her now very anxious stomach.

Fred flicked the tiny twig he had plucked from the back of Annie's sweater at George's face. George's arm lashed out and punched his brother in the arm before he could mount a defense.

The scuffle drew Molly's attention. "What's the matter now, you two?" she asked them.

Annie noticed George's face was flushing; felt her own begin to do the same.

"Ask him," Fred answered, rubbing his arm. "He started it."

George shrugged under his mother's gaze. "Happy birthday, Mum. Open this one first," he said awkwardly, indicating his gift for her, in a weak attempt to redirect her focus.

"All right then," she said slowly, suspiciously.

Annie hid behind her camera, which she had busied herself digging out of her bag while most of the last exchange had occurred. She snapped away as the mood began to brighten once again, hovering around the margins of the room. Molly was visibly pleased with the gifts her children and husband had given her, and Annie's cake was met with rounds of compliments. The light was soft and warm, and the genuine happy feeling amongst the family was making for some wonderful candid shots. Annie looked forward to seeing how they would come out.