George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 28: Heartache

Winter 1997

"You have congestive heart failure, Mrs. Jones. We're going to start you on some medications to help alleviate some of the symptoms, so you should start feeling more comfortable, breathing more easily."

"So she'll start getting better?" Annie asked, relieved that the cause of her Gran's failing health was finally identified. Months of useless doctor's visits had resulted in nothing but mounting frustration. It was not until the crisis of the previous night that anyone had finally taken them seriously. She was sitting next to her Gran's hospital bed, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and worry.

The doctor paused.

That was never a good sign, Annie thought.

"I said she would start feeling better. The damage to her heart is not going to repair itself, however. I'm afraid there's not much we can do about that," he said.

"What are you saying?" Annie demanded.

"He's trying to tell you I'm dying," murmured Meredith.

"Gran! Don't say that!" Annie cried.

"Isn't that right, Doctor?" asked Meredith, ignoring her granddaughter's protest.

"Well... yes, Mrs. Jones. Not immediately, but...."

"Soon," she offered, finishing his thought.

Annie couldn't get it out of her head. That scene replayed itself over and over every night as she sat on the chair in her grandmother's room, watching her sleep. Her Gran's face looked peaceful enough, despite the fact it was trussed up by the oxygen tubes now stuck in her nose. How anyone could get a decent rest with that thing strapped to their face was beyond Annie's comprehension. But Gran's chest rose and fell rhythmically with slow, even breaths, however, and Annie was grateful beyond words for that fact.

Annie felt like she losing her grip on sanity, once again. Ever since she had rushed Gran to the hospital, gasping for breath and alarmingly swollen like a charm gone bad, Annie hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a stretch. She was so worried that something might happen while she slept. She had taken an extended leave from her job with the dentist, and hadn't gone for a run now in weeks. She no longer had all the time in the world with her Gran, and felt each moment was too precious to waste on anything else.

Which meant she had even less time with her other beloved. Her time with George had been constrained now to a few minutes every night out in her garden, as they updated each other with the events of the day, then a kiss goodnight before he went off on some rescue mission or another. Then once more just before dawn, he would return with a kiss good morning and a wish for a positive day to come. Gone were the nights spent together in her bed, in his arms. She couldn't believe how stupid she had been then, feeling unsatisfied with the hours of glorious, invaluable time they had been able to spend together just a few weeks ago.

"How is she?" he would ask every night, his breath visible in the cold moonlight.

"The same. Breathing all right. Still not eating much," she would reply.

It was becoming like a script. Never any improvement - but at least Gran wasn't getting significantly worse. Tonight had included a slight derivation from the routine, though.

"Why don't I stay here tonight? I could watch her for you, and you could get some sleep," he had urged with worry in his voice.

Annie had shaken her head, touched by his offer. "No point. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. I can't anymore. Go save the world instead," she said, clinging to his warm, strong embrace. It never failed to cheer her, to steel her for the long night to come.

"Annie?"

Annie was startled out of her almost-dozing state by her Gran's quiet voice. "I'm here, Gran. Do you need anything?" she asked, rising from the chair to stand at her bedside.

"Yes. We need to talk," she said. The words were a struggle for her, the breath to power them difficult to summon.

"Okay. You should be resting, though," Annie replied.

"Plenty of time to rest later," Meredith argued weakly. "We need to talk about this...."

Annie shook her head silently, pursing her lips.

"Annie, you can't deny it any longer. We've always known it was going to happen. It is happening...."

"NO!" she shouted, startling herself as well as her Gran with her vehemence. Even Michael whimpered from his spot on the floor where he had been sleeping.

"Annie!" Meredith scolded her. "Behaving like a stubborn child isn't helping the situation."

"Gran... please! I just can't. Not right now," she pleaded, afraid she was about to burst into sobs.

"When? Perhaps you'd rather I should make an appointment?" she snapped in frustration.

Her Gran's sarcasm nearly made her laugh. "Okay. I think I have an opening in a few years. Shall I pencil you in?"

Meredith chuckled as well, but persisted with the serious conversation. "You have to start accepting it. It'll make it easier for you, later, if you do. And I want you to know something, Annie. Something important. I'm ready."

"But I'm not," Annie argued, tears starting to flow.

"Then you had better get yourself ready, hadn't you, my love?" she warned her gently.

*

Annie knew something was wrong the instant she woke up that morning. Michael was not asleep at her feet. Instead, he was whimpering and scratching at Gran's bedroom door, trying to wake her. Immediately, she bolted out of the chair and leaped over to Gran's bedside.

A quick, cursory examination told Annie her Gran had definitely gotten worse overnight. Not only were her legs now terribly swollen, but she was struggling to breathe, even with the oxygen. Just like the last time.

How many more times were left?

"That's it. We're going back to the hospital, Gran."

Meredith meekly nodded.

Annie dialed the phone, requesting the ambulance. Michael seemed to sense the tension in the house, her impatience to leave it, and went quickly about his own business once she let him out. She filled his food and water dishes, took half a minute to dress, then grabbed a few important things to bring with them to the hospital.

It didn't take them long to come for her Gran. Annie supposed things weren't very busy for the emergency services this early on Christmas Eve morning.

After she followed her Gran being wheeled on the gurney into the hospital, Annie calmly went through the motions that were like second nature to her now: filling out the forms, talking with the nurses, listing all her Gran's current medications. She had done it often enough in the last few years it was practically rote. She even chatted with a couple of the nurses, having gotten to know them personally during previous visits.

"When can I see her?" she asked, after nearly two hours had passed.

The reception nurse drew up some information on her computer screen. "Soon, dear. Doctor Shakoor wants to speak with you, first. She'll be along in a bit."

Annie nodded. She knew enough about hospital waiting rooms to know this nurse was not at fault for the delay. She was used to a certain constant baseline level of anxiety regarding Gran anyway, but the extended wait was causing it to escalate quickly. Each minute that ticked by without news incrementally added to her worry.

Surely she should have been settled into a room by now?

Finally, the doctor came to fetch her from the miserable waiting room with its pathetic holiday decorations. She was a beautiful young Indian woman, with lovely dark eyes that were soft pools of concern. But instead of taking her to her Gran, she led Annie into her office.

"Please take a seat, Miss Jones."

A blanket of doom settled onto Annie's shoulders as she took the offered seat. Before she could get a word out, the doctor continued.

"Your grandmother is gravely ill, as you know. We are doing what we can for her, to make her comfortable. But you must understand that there are limits to what we can do at this point. The medications we have available to us are not keeping up with the fluids being produced, and her lungs are beginning to fill. In a younger patient, more aggressive options, like surgery, would be indicated. In your grandmother's case.... Well, a heart transplant is just not possible. We do not have the time to find a donor, nor will we try to for a seventy-nine-year-old woman, with the disease in this advanced state. The odds for success would be too low to justify such a risk.

"You must understand that this episode is very likely going to be terminal. You don't have much time - a few days at most. I urge you to help your grandmother get her affairs in order; contact any family you think necessary.

"I am very sorry, Miss Jones."

A few minutes later, Annie followed another nurse through the hallways of the hospital like she was on a leash. A docile, brainless animal being led along, with blinders on. The doctor's words were echoing inside an empty space in her head. She had a few days, at best, to say goodbye.

Gran was on the bed, which was propped up to help her lungs function as best they could. Nothing had changed from this morning at home - she was still struggling to breathe. Each breath came as a gasp, with an alarmingly long pause between them. Cords and tubes were everywhere, like they had crawled out of the walls and machines and were trying to engulf her Gran's body.

She leaned over the bed to kiss her Gran's forehead. She took her hand and felt a weak squeeze in response. Her Gran looked purposefully into Annie's eyes, trying to read her expression. After a minute, Gran nodded slightly. Annie had to look away.

"Richard... Mason... solicitor... my will...."

"Gran, don't. Save your strength." The first of Annie's tears began to roll.

"Call... him... Annie."

Annie nodded. "Please, don't try to talk. Just rest."

Meredith nodded, and closed her eyes.

Annie sat alone beside her for the next five hours, holding her hand. Listening to her gasp. Waiting.

*

George had spent the day decorating the Burrow with Ginny and Fred. They had been trying to put on a bit of holiday cheer for their mother's benefit. It had now become a sort of tradition to truss up a garden gnome as an angel for a tree-topper, and he smiled to himself to think of it.

But it was all for show. The mood in the house was far too solemn for a holiday. Bill had sent word that they weren't coming tomorrow, Charlie was in Romania drumming up support for the Order, Percy was still being an ass, and Ron was on the lam. It had all been too much for his mum to take. Arthur had finally put her to bed early with a generous dose of Firewhiskey.

He had promised his father he wouldn't be too long tonight. Just dinner with Annie and her Gran. Nothing else had been planned; he would be gone a few hours at most. The time together would be their Christmas gift to each other, after weeks of surviving on stolen, brief moments in the garden.

He knew Annie and her Gran had always held their own celebration on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition born when Annie had been quite young. Instead of a huge family gathering on Christmas day, like the Weasleys had always done, she and her Gran would always volunteer at a soup kitchen in Exeter, although Meredith's poor health precluded that plan this year.

He had promised his father he would be back at the Burrow early tonight, and all day tomorrow, but then planned to spend more time with Annie next week. Sitting at Meredith's bedside, if that's what it took to be with her, he figured.

Screw the bloody Order, he grumbled to himself. This is more important....

George apparated just outside the garden fence and trudged through the garden to the back steps. His hand slid off the immobile doorknob and he crashed bodily into the door. He stood for a moment, completely flummoxed: he had never once found it locked before. He knocked and called out, "Hello?"

He could hear the dog barking and whining inside the house. Worry began to gnaw at the base of his brain. He popped inside to take a quick look around, wand drawn.

Everyone was gone, but nothing else was amiss, except that Michael kept whimpering. Thinking perhaps he needed to go outside, George unlocked the back door. The dog scampered quickly outside, as if he'd been cooped up alone for quite a while. As George walked around inside, looking for a clue as to why the house was empty, it occurred to him to turn on his phone.

Sure enough, there was a message. The female voice of the phone informed him the message was old - from this morning, in fact. Then he heard Annie.

"George.... We're at the hospital. It isn't good. Call me when you get this." Her voice was shaky and long pauses fell between each sentence, while she had been struggling for control during the silences.

He turned off the phone as he called for the dog to come inside, then left the house. In the next minute, he sent his Patronus to his father at the Burrow, briefly explaining why he wouldn't be coming home tonight. He paused for a moment to clearly visualize an abandoned building he remembered being not too far from the hospital. Counting on the distraction of the holiday to decrease his chance of being witnessed, he apparated directly onto the street there, and began to run.

"Meredith Jones, please? She was admitted this morning," he asked, out of breath, as he leaned onto the reception desk for support.

"Are you family, sir?"

"Yes," he lied.

"Room 1893. Would you like me to call someone to lead you there?"

"I'll find it," he answered, shaking his head, and jogged off to the lifts.

"Visiting hours are nearly over, sir..." she called after him.

It took another ten minutes of running through the maze of hallways, accounting for one wrong turn, to find the room. He paused outside the open doorway to catch his breath. He pressed his hand into his ribs, attempting to relieve the pain of the stitch in his side. It took a minute before he could register any sound over the noise of his own heavy breathing. He realized then that the wheezing gasps he heard were not coming from himself, after all.

He took one step silently across the threshold into the room. Over the quiet humming and beeping of several large machines, he was assaulted by the grating, raspy sound of Meredith's each and every intake of breath, followed by the painfully long interval of quieter exhale. The room was dimly lit by a small light above the bed. Annie had her back to the door, sitting on the edge of a seat, holding something: Meredith's hand, he presumed. He couldn't see her Gran at all - his view was blocked by Annie and a machine - only hear her labored breathing.

"Excuse me, sir."

He hadn't realized he was still standing in the doorway until the officious voice asked him to move from behind. He stepped aside as a small, dark woman walked by him.

The woman walked up to each of the machines in turn, collecting information, before gently touching Annie on the shoulder. When Annie turned to look at the doctor, George could finally see her face, if only in profile. It was exhausted, wet, and puffy... and beautiful. He felt his heart wrench to see her so.

"I want to drain the fluid now from your grandmother's lungs. It will relieve some of her discomfort, I think. Then I want to put her on a breathing machine."

"No... machine..." a pitiful voice came from the bed, creaking out between gasps.

"Gran," Annie pleaded softly with her. "The machine will help you live."

"Not... a life... on a... machine," Meredith argued with as much force as she could summon.

Annie turned back to the doctor, fresh tears dripping down her face. "Do the procedure, but no machine, please."

The doctor nodded slowly. "You'll need to wait outside, until we're done. Afterward, she'll likely be a bit out of it from the pain medication, but you can see her then." She looked up toward the doorway and nodded, directing two more people to come into the room. One of the nurses carried a large tray full of metal and plastic objects.

Annie winced at the horrible snapping sound of latex gloves being pulled on.

"You need to leave now, dear," a nurse reminded her.

When Annie didn't move, the nurse took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the bed, pushing her gently toward the door. The curtain made a loud rattle as it was tugged around the bed, blocking their view of Meredith.

Annie's eyes finally came to rest on George. She stood stock still, unable to move as if petrified, and just stared at him with the barest hint of recognition.

George walked over to her, put his arms around her, and drew her from the room, away from the indecent sounds of plastic and paper packaging ripping apart, of metal instruments clanging against a metal tray.

They stood for over an hour, just outside the door in the hallway. George leaned his back against the wall and held Annie tightly, supporting her. She stood silent and still in his arms, face pressed against his chest; never so much as shifting her weight on her surely tired feet. She might have even been asleep, he thought; if he hadn't been able to feel her wet tears soaking his shirt, that is. They didn't move from their spot until a nurse came to tell them it was all right to go back in the room. Annie finally lifted her head to nod at the nurse in acknowledgement.

They sat together at Meredith's bedside. She was at rest now, and the ghastly wheezing had stopped. Thankfully, she was breathing much easier, though not entirely without effort. The medication had allowed her to fall asleep.

A while later, another nurse entered - one he had not seen before. After checking the machines, she placed a hand on George's shoulder. "The poor thing hasn't eaten all day. She won't leave, no matter what we tell her. Go and get her something," she suggested in a soft voice.

George didn't want to leave Annie either, but nodded. He whispered his plan in Annie's ear, which she barely acknowledged with a tiny nod, never tearing her eyes from Meredith's face.

He returned shortly with a sandwich and steaming cups of consommé and coffee for them both. His gentle suggestions for her to eat went unnoticed. Finally, he barked at her sternly.

"Annie! Eat!" he commanded, shaking her arm.

She looked at him with an expression of disbelief and annoyance.

"I'll drag you out of here and force feed you if you don't cooperate," he warned, hoping she wouldn't call his bluff.

"Fine," she capitulated and took the cup from his hand. It was the only word she had spoken to him since he arrived, her first word in hours. Her voice was raw, low and weak.

The rest of the night passed slowly in vigilant silence. Annie left Meredith's bedside once, briefly; George assumed she went to the restroom. He spent most of the time standing or sitting next to Annie, holding her, or massaging her tense shoulders. At some point, just before dawn, he must have dozed off in the seat.

"Gran?"

George was startled awake by the sound of hopeful excitement in Annie's wracked voice. Bright sunshine was now streaming into the room. He leaped up from the seat to stand by her side.

Meredith was blinking away sleep, smiling at them both. "Good morning, you two," she whispered, a little breathless. Her voice sounded tired but cheerful. "Happy Christmas."

George and Annie both chuckled in welcome relief.

New tears spilled onto Annie's smiling cheeks. "Happy Christmas, Gran."

Dr. Shakoor came in to check on Meredith not long after she woke. "Good morning, Mrs. Jones. I am so glad to see you awake. How is your breathing?" she asked, gently listening in various places on her chest with a stethoscope.

"Happy Christmas, doctor."

"Hmm, and to you," the doctor murmured. "Are you feeling any pain?"

"Not much," Meredith responded softly.

"We want you to be as comfortable as possible, Mrs. Jones. Let us try for no pain at all. I will slightly increase your medication, for now." The doctor turned to Annie and motioned for her to accompany her out into the hall.

"Thank you so much, for what you did for Gran last night. It's like a miracle!" Annie gushed as soon as they were out the door. She wanted to hug the lovely Indian woman who was nearly as small as Annie was.

"You are very welcome, of course. This is my job. But Miss Jones, please do not misinterpret these events. It is indeed almost miraculous that your grandmother has rallied so well over the past few hours. Commonly, most patients in her condition would have slipped into a coma by now. But do not take her current lucidity as a permanent reversal. Her heart is failing, Miss Jones. The blood oxygen level analysis proves it. I say this not to be cruel, or to crush your hopes, but to be kind. You must prepare yourself. Make the most of this interval. It will likely be brief."

Annie hugged herself tightly, holding herself together against the body blows of the doctor's words. The news, while devastating, was not entirely unexpected, if she was honest with herself. No one could look at her grandmother lying in the bed and not see that the doctor was telling the truth. Her time was short. The urge to run back to Gran was nearly overpowering as she nodded in understanding.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty last night to contact the hospital chaplain," the doctor continued. She was waving at a young man dressed in black, walking swiftly toward them down the hall, a small book in his hand. When he reached them, the doctor began her introductions. "Miss Jones, this is Reverend Sean Wallace."

He nodded a greeting to her with a sympathetic smile. Annie's first impression of him was that he had a kind face. His young, handsome visage harbored idealistic eyes and a friendly warmth that she thought must serve him well in this calling.

"Mr. Wallace can assist you in making any arrangements you might yet need. If all continues to go well, I'll check in on your grandmother again at the end of the day, before I leave."

"Is it all right if I meet your grandmother now, Miss Jones?" the fellow asked.

"Sure," she answered without enthusiasm as she turned to reenter the room and lead the chaplain inside.

Annie glanced into the room, and immediately noticed George was leaning over the bed, looking intently at her Gran, nodding his head slightly. His hands tightly gripped the bedrail, making the muscles in his forearm flex; Annie recognized the attempt to bodily battle for control over the grief from personal experience. She took a few steps closer, beginning to overhear the conversation in progress, having completely forgotten about the chaplain for the moment.

"We spoke about this, once before," said Meredith, slowly and softly. "You're a good man, George. A good match for my Angharad. You're meant to be together, you two, like my Llewellyn and I were. I see him in my mind so clearly now. Like he's here in the room with me, almost. My love...." Meredith gazed past his shoulder with unfocused eyes for a few moments.

George glanced around while waiting for her to continue, unable to tolerate the look on her face - the acceptance of her own impending death in Meredith's eyes - and noticed Annie and a man with a bible in hand standing just inside. Must be a chaplain, he thought, here for last rites or some such thing. Annie was staring at Meredith intently, her wide violet eyes rimmed with red, new tear streaks shining down her face. He looked back at Meredith, who was looking at him once more, as she began to speak.

"You and Angharad have our blessing, of course. So much happiness ahead for you both. So much love. We'll be there, in spirit, for your wedding day."

"I'd rather you be there in person, Mrs. Jones," he argued earnestly.

Meredith smiled and weakly patted his hand. Her expression was that of patience being taxed. "Don't be silly, dear. You and I both know my time is far too short for that. And please, for pity's sake, call me Meredith."

"Perhaps not, Meredith." George looked away from her and up at the woman he loved with an intense gaze, a flash of inspiration bolting through his brain. "Annie, it seems as if fate has sent us a sign." He nodded to indicate the man in black. "I think it's time we got married. Sir, I presume you have the legal authority to do the job?"

Shock crossed everyone's face in the room. Meredith turned to see Annie and the chaplain in the room for the first time. A nurse, who had just stepped in the room to check on Meredith, exclaimed in surprise.

"I do, yes. I can perform a marriage ceremony," the young man spluttered. "But are you quite sure this is the appropriate time?"

"You heard Mrs. Jones: time is of the essence. No point in postponing the inevitable, anyway," he added with a half-smile. "What do you say, Annie? Have five months been a long enough engagement for you?"

Annie knew she could not safely speak out loud. She pressed the back of her hand to lips in an attempt to hide the inane grin, as well as hold in the sob that was about to rip out of her mouth. Her heart was bursting with too many contradicting emotions: boundless love and gratitude, debilitating sadness, soaring happiness. She merely nodded as George stepped around the bed and scooped her into an embrace.

"Oh, my heavens!" exclaimed the nurse. "Have you ever seen anything like it in your life?" she asked no one in particular.

The chaplain was smiling. "All right then. We'll have ourselves a wedding, I suppose. May I ask, young man, if you have the rings already?"

"Oh, er... no. Are they entirely necessary?" George asked with concern. Surely such a stupid detail as rings wouldn't spoil the plan, would it?

"Not a problem!" cried the excitable nurse. "No worries. My brother-in-law is a jeweler here in town. He'll open the store special for you, on Christmas day no less!" She dashed off to phone him with the plan before any of them could agree or disagree.

"Oh, Llew, would you just look at them," sighed Meredith as George and Annie sat together at the foot of her bed. "George, Annie, I'm so pleased for you both. You're like a magician, boy," she laughed. "Snap your fingers, and poof, a wedding."

"He is amazing, isn't he, Gran?" Annie was able to choke out.

"Careful - I'm liable to get rather big-headed with all these compliments," George laughed. He felt embarrassed by the elation he felt at this moment, sitting on Meredith's sickbed and holding Annie in his lap. They were about to be married... really MARRIED... TODAY!

Wedding Nurse returned a few minutes later with the news. Her brother-in-law had kindly offered meet them at the shop in an hour. George watched Annie's face carefully: she was happy, but he could tell she didn't want to leave Meredith's side.

"Would you rather I go by myself?" he asked her.

"What? You don't want to pick out your ring? You're only a bride once, you know," exclaimed the nurse.

"That's all right. I trust him not to mess it up," she teased with as much of a smile as she was capable of. She squeezed his hand as he kissed her forehead. "Just keep it simple," she suggested.

He tore a little strip of foil off the wrapper from her sandwich and twisted it around her finger. Then he carefully slid it off. "I won't be long," he assured her.

After Wedding Nurse drew him a map to the jeweler's, George left the hospital. He had just enough time, he figured. When the coast was clear, he apparated back to the Burrow.

"George!" Molly exclaimed when he marched through the back door. "How is she? We've been so worried!"

"It's not good." George shook his head. "I've only got a minute before I need to get back. Where's Fred? I need to speak with him."

"Upstairs, I expect. It's been quiet for a while, so I reckon he's asleep," offered Ginny. Like the rest of his family present, she wore a slightly baffled look.

George had neither the time nor the inclination to explain. He took the stairs two at a time, and burst into their bedroom.

"Wake up! I need every note of muggle money you've got," he ordered his brother as he dug through his own closet, tossing boxes and scattering clothing, searching for his own stash of the same.

Fred hopped up and immediately reached under his bed, pulling out a small box. "What's going on?" he asked as he handed George a wad of cash.

"Thanks, I'm good for it," he assured him. "I'm in a bit of a rush... no time for details, but I'm off to a jeweler's to buy our rings."

"Rings? As in wedding?" Fred asked.

George nodded. "Keep your mouth shut while I'm gone, all right?"

"Won't be a problem. I'm coming with you," Fred insisted.

"What are you talking about?" George asked impatiently. He had no time for his brother's nonsense at the moment.

"Well, obviously I'm your best man. You're in such a hurry you forgot to ask me. I forgive you."

George smiled at his twin brother. "You're right, of course."

Fred chuckled in response. "This should be fun. I've had you two pegged for a shotgun wedding for a while now," he joked.

*

"Well, are we all here now? Ready? Brilliant, then. I must confess this is my first wedding. Wish me luck," he joked, and everyone in the room chuckled nervously.

Mr. Wallace cleared his throat. He took his place next to Meredith, who was beaming at the bride, groom and best man standing at the foot of the bed. Wedding Nurse was on the other side of Meredith, and snapped a picture with a disposable camera. All eyes turned to the chaplain as he began to speak.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

Fred handed his brother a ring, fidgeting nervously back and forth on his feet. George and Annie turned to each other, holding hands and looking intently into each other's eyes.

"George Weasley, do you take Angharad Jones to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her so long as you both shall live?"

In a strong, clear voice, George answered, "I do," and smiled. He placed Annie's plain gold band onto her finger.

"Angharad, do you take George to be your wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"

"I do," she cried, with a sheepish laugh at her own enthusiasm.

Fred handed her a ring, and she placed it on George's finger.

"In the presence of God, George and Angharad have made their marriage vows to each other. I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder. Now, I am sure you both know what to do next," he added with a chuckle.

George and Annie leaned close to kiss. Wedding Nurse took another snap.

"And that's that. Cheers to the newlywed couple!" cried the chaplain.

Meredith lifted her arms to embrace them each in turn as they leaned over the bed.

"I'm so happy for you both!" Meredith cried softly into his ear. "Thank you, George, for the most wonderful gift of my life!"

"I'm the one getting the gift," he assured her in a whisper.

The camera snapped again.

Fred opened a tin of butter cookies and passed it around. "Best wedding I've ever been to. Absolutely the tops. That was five minutes, at most, good man! Well done, you!" he complimented the chaplain, pounding him on the back.

Annie and George signed their names in the first line of an official-looking book of the chaplain's. They thanked him again before he left the room.

"Group photo, dears," cried Wedding Nurse.

Annie stood next to her Gran, with George beside her and Fred behind them both.

"Lean in close," the woman suggested, and then took the picture. "Here you go, dear. There's plenty more on the roll," said Wedding Nurse, handing the camera over to Annie. "Consider it a wedding gift! That was the most fun I've ever had pulling a holiday shift!" she laughed as she left the room as well.

Fred hung around for an hour or so, chatting and laughing, snapping more pictures, until the cookies were gone. As he rose to leave, he shook George's hand and thumped him on the back, then turned to Annie.

"You know, I'm now officially your brother, Annie. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of torture like you've never experienced before," he said with a smile. He leaned down to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Welcome to the Weasleys, mate," he chuckled.

Night had settled outside the hospital, and the room grew very quiet. Meredith was exhausted, that was clear, but she was still smiling happily. Annie stood by the bed, holding her Gran's hand in both of her own, one of which now sported a gleaming golden band around one finger, smiling blissfully herself. George sat in a chair, elbows propped on knees, chin in his hand, staring off tiredly out the window.

Dr. Shakoor knocked on the open door on her way inside the room. "Hello, Mrs. Jones. I understand you had quite a bit of excitement here today," she chatted absentmindedly as she scanned information on a clipboard. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"No, no pain. Just a bit tired. Happy and tired."

"I want you to rest now, Mrs. Jones, so I'm going to order a light sedative. It's very important for you to sleep, in order to conserve your energy."

Meredith nodded.

The doctor continued, addressing Annie next. "It's also imperative for you to rest as well. The staff informs me you have been here, awake, since she was admitted. Your grandmother's vital signs are stable, and she should sleep for about eight hours on the medication. I want you to go home and do the same. We'll call you if anything happens before then."

Annie pursed her lips and crossed her arms in defiance.

The doctor raised her eyebrow while looking at her, then turned to George. "Mr. Weasley, please convince your wife that she needs to rest. Take her home," she insisted, then she turned and left the room.

"I'll be fine for a while now, dear. Go home and let me rest. Come and see me tomorrow morning. I promise I'll be here waiting for you," Meredith assured her newlywed granddaughter.

"Gran..." Annie began to protest.

"Doctor's orders," warned George as he took Annie's hands, yawning himself. He pulled her gently away from the hospital bed.

"Just a few hours. I'll be back in a few hours, Gran," Annie said her as her feet reluctantly shuffled toward the door.

"Goodnight, dear," Meredith called softly as they walked out the door of her room.

George and Annie strolled out of the hospital, hand in hand, and walked through the car park. They stopped at Annie's truck, parked beneath a streetlight. George opened her door, lifted her inside to the seat, and kissed her passionately for a couple of minutes. Then he shut the door, jogged around the back, and climbed into the driver's side.

A pair of unfriendly, calculating eyes watched them as the truck drove off.

Out of the blue, George's kiss had lit her on fire. After the last thirty-six grueling hours Annie had just spent, she was completely shocked that her body and mind could respond to it in this way. As George drove her home, she stared at him as his face was alternately lit up by yellow streetlights, then faded to reflect a greenish glow from the dashboard.

She wanted him more than ever. Her husband. The word repeated itself in her mind the entire way home.

When they pulled up to the house, he shut off the engine. "Stay there," he commanded as he climbed out.

She watched his every movement as he walked around the front of the truck, then opened her door. She started to slide out, eager to be with him, but was bodily lifted off the seat before her feet could touch the ground.

"You'll need the key," she said, smiling, as they reached the steps to the door. "Put me down and I'll fish it out of my pocket."

"Nope." He tossed her over his shoulder, reached into his own pocket, and the door opened on its own.

"That's a convenient little trick," she laughed, twisting around to partially face him.

"I'm full of them, or hadn't you noticed?" he said. "I told you ages ago you weren't the only one who could get through a locked door."

Michael bounded with happiness around them, barking his welcome. George set her down in the kitchen, and leaned in to kiss her.

Annie's heart raced, but she forced herself to resist him a little longer. "I'm famished," she explained with her hand on his lips. "Let's eat a bite first."

George threw his head back to gaze at the ceiling, and heaved an enormous, frustrated sigh.

"Sit down and I'll make us something," she laughed as she opened the fridge and searched for inspiration. From behind her, she heard the back door open again, and Michael scamper out. "How about an omelet? That won't take too long," she giggled, and started pulling out the ingredients, stacking them on the counter.

To her surprise, George went directly to the cabinet where the cutting board was stored, pulled it out, grabbed a knife from the proper drawer, and started chopping the vegetables.

"What on earth are you doing?" she cried in surprise.

He grinned as he chopped a stalk of broccoli. "I'm not your guest anymore. We're partners now."

"How very enlightened of you, George! Very progressive, even. No, I mean it, really," she joked and quickly ducked to dodge a bit of broccoli thrown at her.

The eggs smelled heavenly as they cooked, and Michael danced around the table happily as they ate. She hadn't realized quite how hungry she had been, and fairly gobbled up an entire plateful. George cleaned his plate even faster, and went to take a quick shower while she finished eating and cleared the table.

He strolled into the kitchen as she was finishing the dishes, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Annie's heart skipped a beat. "Ugh. I'm stuffed. Why did you let me eat all that?" she whined, attempting to disguise the rush of desire that threatened to embarrass her.

"You're going to need your energy," he warned with a smirk. "Now, go take a shower - you look like hell. Then come to bed."

Annie snorted even as her knees felt a bit wobbly, eager to obey his commands. "So romantic, so smooth. You should be a poet."

"Hurry," he ordered as he sauntered into her bedroom.

She did exactly that. She walked into her bedroom a moment behind him. He was already lying on his back in her bed, covered with a sheet, hands behind his head, eyes closed. He looked at her questioningly with one eye open as she crept to her closet.

"Just grabbing some pajamas," she lied.

"Waste of time," he said. "Quit stalling."

She dashed into the bathroom, pulling out the tissue-wrapped package stashed under her shirt once she was behind the closed door. She set it on the counter, and showered quickly. Once she had dried off, she unwrapped the tissue, careful not to make too much noise in the uncharacteristically silent house. She spent a moment looking at the elegant, black, lacy things she had bought a couple of months ago. She had intended then to wear them for George tonight as a Christmas present. Now it was something even more special: for her wedding night.

"This marriage isn't going to consummate itself!" George called from the bedroom.

She giggled and began to put on the lingerie. "Be patient!" she called back.

A moment later, she was startled by several loud thuds on the bathroom door as George knocked on it with the back of his head.

"You're taking too long. What are you doing in there? I could very easily open this door, you know," he warned.

"Go back to bed. You're going to ruin my entrance!" she complained.

"Entrance?" He sounded intrigued now, still just outside the door.

"Are you in bed yet?" she demanded.

"Ready," he called, his voice sounding further away again.

She opened the bathroom door a crack, just enough to peek out, make sure he wasn't still standing there.

The hallway was empty.

Next, she timidly poked her head around the door and looked into her bedroom.

George was seated on the bed, his back resting on pillows piled against the headboard. He had been watching the door, and smiled as soon as he saw her. He patted the empty space on the bed next to him expectantly. "Nothing to be nervous about," he teased. "Come on, then. I promise I'll be gentle."

Annie was surprised to find that she did indeed feel nervous. It didn't seem to matter that they had made love countless times before now. It had always seemed more spontaneous than this, somehow. Less... contrived. With lower expectations, perhaps. She suddenly felt ridiculous, and thought about turning around, running back to the bathroom.

George's smile was fading. "Annie? Is something wrong?" His voice had switched from teasing to concern.

What was wrong with her, indeed? She was a married woman, for crying out loud! And wearing very grown-up underwear to boot. Time to pluck up your courage, girl, she commanded herself. She stepped out from behind the door and into her room.

George's eyes practically bugged out of his head as he took in her finery. Precious, sweet George, she thought with prayerful gratitude. His reaction helped bolster her confidence. She walked slowly over to the bed, then around it, to his side instead of the empty one.

"You look effing amazing," he whispered, his eyes following her every move.

"That's the general idea behind these things," she whispered back. She climbed onto the bed, into his lap, facing him. "Open your wedding present, love," she said softly, as she kissed him.

George gently tugged on the bow holding the short black satin robe closed. He pushed it open to reveal a lacy black bra and matching underwear. With the lightest of touches, he slowly traced over the lacy straps, seams, and embroidery like a blind man reading Braille.

For several minutes, his caresses drove her to a lovely madness, until she could hold back no longer. She fell into him, unable to resist the force of his gravity another second. She was greedy for him; a starving woman gorging herself on his kisses.

For the first time, they made love in an empty house, with no one to hide from or keep quiet for. As husband and wife. It was brand new, all over again.