George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 34: Shoreline

Summer 1998

George squeezed Annie's hand. "Ready?" he asked her, smiling with a forced eagerness she knew he did not feel, but she appreciated the effort and sentiment behind the attempt all the same.

"Absolutely," she replied, hoping her own artificial cheerfulness sounded more convincing than his had done.

This would be the third vacant magical domicile they had seen this week. George looked once again at the photo that had accompanied the letter the agent had sent with a description of the place, in an attempt to get his bearings. It looks like a pleasant enough spot in the snap, Annie figured.

"All right, then; I think I've got it. Here we go..." he warned her, holding her hand tightly.

For an instant they were plunged into the all-too-familiar black abyss, then came back into being in the front yard of the little house. Annie took in the sight of it, and supposed it looked charming - if you went for medieval peasant farmstead, that is. Probably when it was built, she thought.

The agent appeared in front of them a few moments later. "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.... Welcome!" he said enthusiastically, shaking their hands. "Lovely little place, isn't it? Such a pity about the family - such a tragedy. I suppose that's all too common a situation these days. Still, even more so for the Diggorys, eh?"

George nodded silently, reluctantly, avoiding any eye contact with the chatty agent. Diggory - the name rang a bell for Annie. Where had she heard it before?

"You're a young chap yourself, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps you knew the boy? What was his name again?"

"Cedric," George replied without enthusiasm.

Now she remembered. That poor boy who died in the Triwizard Tournament. The night You-Know-Who had kidnapped Harry, using him to magically create a body to harbor the evil fragment that was left of his soul.

Annie shuddered at the thought of him. They had lived for so long under the dark, unnamed threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, it was easy to forget it was all finally over, and the menace had been defeated for good.

"That's right, Cedric Diggory. Shame about the parents - too many good wizards were lost...."

Annie wished she could think of some way to politely tell this git to shut the hell up. His chosen topic for inane chatter was defeating her whole purpose today. The other agents had been far more circumspect - perhaps they had been better informed about the Weasley family's recent history.

"Shall we see the inside?" Annie suggested. Maybe she could shut him in a closet or something.

"Oh, er, of course." He swished his wand and the ancient door creaked open on black iron hinges. "Here we are then...."

Annie led a yielding but unenthusiastic George by the hand into the house. Inside it was dim, but warm and cozy.

Well, perhaps cozy was the wrong word. Cramped might have been more accurate. Annie gazed up at the rough-hewn ceiling beams that seemed awfully close - she reached up and touched one easily with her fingertips while remaining flat-footed.

The agent noticed her gesture. "Strong, sturdy construction there, Mrs. Weasley." Either he misinterpreted her, or he was trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

George had wandered over to a doorway and was peeking through it.

"How many bedrooms?" she asked.

The agent looked at her, as if considering for a moment how to address her question. "Well, er, that's a tricky question, actually," he said cryptically.

The agent directed her over to the room where George was standing in the doorway. "It's rather charming, really," the agent said with a pasted-on, crocodile smile. "Remarkable craftsmanship - they don't make them like this anymore, I assure you." He walked into the small room just off the main living area, then spread his arms wide.

Annie and George stepped into the small room. It was completely empty, except for several sets of what looked like built-in cabinet doors. They looked at the agent in confusion. The floor space barely looked big enough to hold a full-sized bed.

The agent smiled uncomfortably, then walked over to one set of doors. He threw them open with a dramatic flourish. "Now, you don't see that every day. Unique, no?"

Annie's jaw dropped. Behind the doors was a completely enclosed bed. A mattress, resting on a frame about three feet off the floor, was surrounded by three solid walls. No shelves, no windows; nothing but a single sconce interrupted the perfectly smooth walls.

"We're supposed to sleep in closets?" cried George with more animation than she'd seen in a long time.

The agent's smile faltered a bit. "Well, no, the closets are some of the other doors of the room here. I suppose it might take some getting used to. But it certainly is nice and dark... and quiet inside, I would assume."

George and Annie shared a look of dubious shock, wondering if the other was buying any of this. Neither had any intention of ever testing out the validity of such a statement. It was no wonder they didn't make houses like this anymore, in Annie's opinion. She took a few steps closer, peering in. It would be as claustrophobic as a coffin in there, she thought morbidly.

"Would you care to see the kitchen now?" the agent offered, sensing he was losing them and eager to move on.

Annie nodded and followed him back out of the sleeping quarters.

"Nice big fireplace - easy as a swish to get that connected to the Floo Network, if you like," he said with a wave toward the sooty black portal to the rest of the magical world.

"And just look at that view!" he exclaimed, indicating a small window that was the sole source of natural light in the room. The three of them couldn't stand side by side in front of it, so the agent took a step back behind them. It was a lovely pastoral view, Annie had to admit. She just wished there was a bit more of it.

The agent then swept them into the kitchen. Annie heard a solid thud behind her, instantly followed by a muttered, "Ow!" She turned around to see George rubbing his forehead. Unbelievably, the ceiling rafters were even lower in this room.

"I'm sure we could make arrangements for any of the furnishings you see here to stay," the agent added, rapidly trying to distract them from the tiny kitchen dimensions by sweetening the deal. "Just say the word. It's a buyer's market now, that's for sure." The agent waved his wand around and all the appliances hummed into life, the sconces lit up and cast the little room in a warm, inviting glow.

Annie scanned each wall. As she predicted, there were no outlets to be seen. None of the houses they had toured had electricity, nor had she expected them to. They had all been wizards' houses, not muggle ones, after all.

"How far is the nearest road?" she asked.

"Er - road? You mean the one muggles drive cars on? Well, I must admit, you've got me on that one. I'm afraid I have no idea at all. Likely quite a ways, I imagine. I'm curious though - why do you ask?"

Annie chuckled, more at herself than the agent. "Because I'm particularly thick. I mean, there's no lane leading away from here, so why should I expect a road nearby?" she replied, looking at her husband as she spoke.

George smiled at her attempt at humor, which was a relief to her. The agent looked at George with confused concern.

"My wife is a muggle herself, Mr. Stanley," he explained.

"Really?!" he spluttered. "Oh, well, isn't that lovely? Er - how do you like the house so far, my dear?" he asked, attempting to recover himself. "Good bargain for the price, you must admit," he said, hoping she'd agree.

"It's very... nice," she offered, non-committally.

The agent's smile deflated into a smirk.

"Would you mind giving us a few moments alone, Mr. Stanley? To discuss the house?" George asked.

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," he agreed, eager now to leave the awkward atmosphere, and convinced they were a lost cause anyway. "I'll just be out front, if you have any questions...."

"Are they all going to be like this, then?" she asked as soon as they were alone.

"You mean built to elfish specifications?" he asked as he knocked his head a second time on a rafter and swore softly.

Annie couldn't help giggling. "You could start wearing helmets at home," she teased him.

"Ha ha," he laughed sarcastically, rubbing his temple.

"No - what I mean is, are they all so completely... magical? Not one thing in here is useable by someone like me. I couldn't boil a pot of water, George!" she cried in quiet desperation. "And so remote.... I'd be completely isolated - no road, no neighbors...."

"Well, that part's sort of required by law, remember?" he reminded her. "Minimizes the risk of..."

"Being discovered," she said, completing his sentence. "Right." After a pause, she added, "I'll be so lonely out here. How far do you think we are from the Burrow?"

"About seven miles, I think, as the crow flies. Maybe a bit more," he said as he walked over to her while keeping his head bent comically low. "It's the closest one we've seen. And you won't be lonely for long - you'll have more company than you'll know what to do with, pretty soon." He hugged her, patting her rapidly growing belly.

She laughed. "No one will hear me scream at them like your mother did at you, which is convenient," she teased.

"No one will hear much of anything out here. That's a perk," he said softly, kissing her forehead. They had never really spent any time together where the threat of being overheard or interrupted wasn't constant.

"Nearly the only one," she agreed sarcastically. "This won't work. None of them we've seen will work," she said with more seriousness. She sighed with frustration.

"I know," he agreed. "But this is everything in the area, unless you want to reconsider living in town...."

"No!" she cried. "I'm sick of hiding in plain sight. No more pretending. I refuse to live a life that way anymore."

"You don't have to convince me! I'm just laying out all our options, you know," he said, his smile belying his defensive tone.

"What are we going to do?" she groaned.

"I guess it's back to the drawing board," he muttered with a shrug.

Inspiration hit Annie like a flash. "George - you're a genius! That's it!"

"I know," he responded in surprise. "What exactly did I figure out?"

"The drawing board. We'll build our own house, exactly as we want it, where we want it. It's the perfect solution, of course, love. You're absolutely brilliant!"

"I admit that part is true," he chuckled. "But Annie, I don't really know much about building a house...."

"But we do know someone who is an expert: Jane!"

*

Annie had not seen Jane since her Gran's funeral the previous winter. Jane's university studies, compounded with the series of traumatic events that had befallen Annie as winter led into spring, had led the two friends to practically drop all communication between them for a while. Annie was careful not to spend too much time catching up over the phone, diverting most of Jane's inquiries about what had happened in Ottery over the past spring while she was away in Cardiff by lying through her teeth.

"Not much, really," she had said. "You know... same old."

Her friend had squealed with excitement as soon as she laid eyes on Annie; of course understanding the biggest bit of news without a word. And Jane was further thrilled to learn they wanted her to design a home for them.

"This won't be a typical house, Jane," warned Annie.

"I never expect anything typical from you, Annie," she teased her. "I'm just so excited to have the opportunity to do this for you! It'll be a real test for me, as well. What did you have in mind?"

Annie looked at George and shrugged. "Any suggestions?" she asked.

"Er... yeah, I've got one request: high ceilings," he said with a chuckle.

Annie giggled as well.

"I sense this is a private joke," teased Jane. "Right - high ceilings. Anything else? What sort of architectural style do you like?"

"Dunno. What have you got to choose from?" Annie asked.

Jane handed them a book. "This might give you some ideas. Flip through it, you two, while I start dinner," she instructed them. Jane's parents had already made plans to be out of town this weekend, wrecking her plan to visit with them as well, so she was on her own in their house in Ottery.

Annie and George began looking at the pictures of homes. The first was an example of medieval design. "Definitely not," they both said in unison, smiling at each other in agreement. They continued, rapidly flipping through historical styles, agreeing they held little interest for them.

Not until they reached the very end of the book did they begin to see anything they truly liked. The clean, straight lines, open floor plans and bright, natural light of the most modern designs attracted them both.

"It's so different from what you or I grew up with, isn't it?" she asked him.

"I really like it, though," he agreed. "It's... easy, you know? No fuss. Just simple."

Annie nodded in understanding. "Effortless, almost," she added.

Jane peeked over their shoulders. "I wouldn't say effortless, exactly, but very doable," she chimed in. "I'm impressed - you two have very good taste!" Jane sat down in a chair across from them and took out a pad of paper. "Now, let's start making some decisions. First off... how many rooms? How many floors?"

"We are planning for a large family, right Annie?" George winked. "Better make it big."

"Four bedrooms should be plenty," Annie giggled. "One for us, one for guests, one for boys, and one for girls. Keep it simple," she recommended.

"But the rooms should be big, to accommodate lots of each," he insisted, laughing again.

"Well, with this type of modular design, we can make that part flexible. Moveable walls, even, if you like," Jane laughed, not entirely sure if they were joking or serious. "How's that for compromise?"

"Sounds perfect," said Annie.

"And we need a big fireplace," suggested George.

"A big, open ground floor," added Annie. "A roomy kitchen, and dining space for a crowd - for when your family comes over," she said to George.

"And I'll want a workshop - a big one," he said.

"Okay, I get it already. Lots of square footage," Jane said. "Definitely two, maybe three floors. What else?"

"We want to try to minimize the use of electricity," Annie said tentatively. "Maybe even stay off the grid."

"We can try solar, if you want," said Jane thoughtfully. "But you'll still probably want to supplement it with a regular residential line...."

"Right, well... we have a peculiar situation when it comes to electricity," George said, carefully pronouncing the word. "All the lines have to be strongly protected from surges... from within the house," he added somewhat guardedly.

"What exactly are you going to be doing to cause electrical surges?" Jane asked curiously.

"I warned you we would have some unusual requests," Annie said with a smile. "And that's one of the big ones. But we'll only need three, maybe four outlets in the entire place."

"That's ridiculous, Annie. I'm all for conserving energy, but that's too extreme. What about lights? Appliances? You'll overload the house trying to pull too much power through too few outlets."

"We plan to rely on natural light, mechanical appliances whenever possible. Trust me, the number of outlets is plenty," Annie argued.

Jane was unconvinced. "What about resale value? No one else will want a house with three outlets!"

"Not a problem," chimed in George. "It'll never be for sale."

Jane scrutinized the couple in front of her for several moments. "You're not involved in anything illegal, are you?"

George and Annie both laughed at Jane's suspicions.

"Not anymore," George said cryptically. "Strictly above-board, I assure you."

"We're reformed!" Annie added. "It's the straight and narrow path for us, from now on!"

*

Over the weeks of the summer, George met with Jane numerous times, tweaking the house plans to what Jane called his "quirky specifications." Once satisfied with the design, he conferred with her extensively, making sure he understood the blueprints perfectly, confirming what each little symbol and note stood for. Jane promised to help serve as a contractor of sorts, helping to place orders for materials and as many pre-fabricated features as possible.

Meanwhile, George and his father began discussing the location of their new home. After touring a few nearby yet reclusive locations, including a very tempting one on a cliff above the sea, they came up with a plan to find a spot on Weasley land instead, thereby avoiding mountains of paperwork and months of waiting on the Ministry to process a new construction request. It was no small undertaking, after all; the building of a new magical residence. There were reams of secrecy laws to be followed, not to mention site inspections, when a brand new spot was chosen. George agreed with his father that he did not have the patience required to deal with the complicated bureaucracy entailed. An "improvement" on already developed Weasley property would be far simpler to pull off.

Just after dawn one morning in July, George and his father walked through the woods toward the willow tree that had figured so prominently in George's childhood, in order to collect a dowsing rod. Arthur's eyes scanned the graffiti-smattered trunk, smiling at the bark carvings that read "Cannons Rule!" and "Gryffindor!" He noted the newest-looking addition was a heart that contained the initials "GW + AJ." He took in a large black scorch mark near the ground, and decided not to ask. He was even able to smile sadly at "Fred was here," scrawled much higher, near a weather-worn but still solid-seeming platform of slightly familiar-looking pieces of lumber.

Arthur shook his head slowly, processing the implications of what his twin sons had gotten away with as children. "You know I adore Annie - but if I had had any idea about all this at the time, I'd've wrung both your necks, you know," Arthur chuckled, testing some of the branches by twisting them between his fingers.

George smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. It was terribly hard, being here in this place with so many memories of Fred clamoring around him. It was making him jittery, the way they jumped out from their hiding places behind nearly everything.

"Don't blame me. We told Mum the truth from the beginning," he joked half-heartedly.

Arthur laughed in response as he cut a switch from the tree. "That you did, indeed. And is it any wonder she didn't believe you, with your track record?"

George couldn't bear to look at the willow tree anymore, and tried looking out across the stream bank instead. His eyes fell on the spot where Fred used to ambush them with volleys of chestnuts whenever he had the chance. He could hear his brother's childish voice yelling, "Duck and cover!" from across the years.

"Are we ready to move on, Dad?" he asked hopefully.

"Certainly, George. I've got what we need," Arthur replied softly.

After spending the morning wandering around, they found an excellent location for a well a good distance away from the Burrow, yet within sight of it, near a small hill.

"This will be a lovely spot, George," offered Arthur. "Good light, nice views, plenty of privacy," he said, indicating the positive aspects with broad sweeps of his arm.

George nodded. It was nice, and he was confident Annie would like it as well. He could easily imagine their house nestled into the hill, with its large windows facing out over the meadow spreading to the south and west. Annie could transform the area surrounding the hill into a pleasant garden, like she planned, with no trouble at all.

He took the opportunity to climb to the top of the little hill. As he stood at the summit, he was hit with a flash of a memory: they had been here before, the three of them, that winter of the blizzard. For an instant, he was flying down the hill on an ancient toboggan, snow spraying into his face once more. He remembered sharing the chocolate frog with a tiny Annie, her eyes lit up with wonder. He remembered arguing with his brother about whether or not they could trust her with their secrets....

There was no escaping them. They were everywhere. Memories of Fred permeated the air and littered the ground, clogging his lungs and making him stumble. George doubted there was a foot of land in the surrounding five square miles that wouldn't hold some recollection of their childhood together. They had been as thorough here in their explorations and adventures as they had been at school, never satisfied with already-discovered territory.

But it wouldn't matter where he and Annie went. He had realized that by now. The current goal was not so much to escape the memories, but to learn to live in peace with them. Hopefully, the brand new house would serve as a sort of filter, abating the flood into a more manageable stream. It was slow going, but he was optimistic that someday it would be tolerable. Either that or he would go mad.

No. As tempting as it was, some days, to let go of rational thought - he would not allow that happen. Too many people were relying on him now. He smiled a tiny but genuine grin in anticipation of the twins growing inside his wife even now. His stomach did the tiny little flip it always performed whenever he thought of them.

He turned his thoughts, as usual, to her instead. His best friend who had become his wife, who was soon to become the mother of his children: Annie. She came the closest to understanding what he was going through, even more so than his father or mother. And she had reached out to him again and again, penetrated the crippling depression, and pulled him out from under its smothering weight every time. She was made of stronger stuff than he was, he gratefully acknowledged.

Thank God for Annie.

*

Summer continued to pass. Two muggles called surveyors came with fascinating gadgets to measure out and mark exactly where the house would go. The fellows seemed surprised at George's and his father's enthusiasm to learn about what they were doing. Annie too had smiled and giggled at the two of them, rather entertained herself at the two wizards fiddling with the surveying instruments.

Once they had left, George began the task of excavating. A good bit of the hill would need to be dug out for the house, as well as his mostly subterranean workshop. He had been practicing the spells for days and with his father's help once again, spent a hot summer day removing and either relocating or vanishing the necessary tons of soil.

Even though the work was done by magic, rather than by hand, it was still physically exhausting. George discovered that the mental focus required for the work helped to keep the darker thoughts at bay. He returned to the Burrow that night far more cheerful than he had been in months, having finally spent a day thinking of something other than the battle, or the loss.

Vast amounts of cement for the foundation were required next. He and Annie had spent an evening discussing the best way to obtain it. To his very great disappointment, they ruled out having it delivered wet by cement truck, convinced that there was no way to hide the use of magic in front of the muggle driver who would be delivering it. Rather than hire a construction crew of local men, risking exposure even further, George was determined to do it all himself.

"How are you going to get all that out there? You're going to need tons!" Annie asked him.

"The only trick will be getting it from the supply yard. Once it's as far as the Burrow's lane, it'll be easy," he explained. "I figured I'd just haul it in your truck, if that's all right with you," he added, not wanting her to feel taken for granted.

"Our truck," she corrected him. "And no, you won't. The poor thing can't handle it, especially all at once."

"It could with a bit of help," he assured her with a wink.

"And you won't look at all conspicuous hauling a house-worth of cement in a rickety old pickup, will you?"

George smirked, conceding the point. "All right, maybe a few trips...."

"More like fifty! George, just rent a lorry," she suggested.

"Can you do that?" he asked, surprised and excited at the possibility of playing with a new bit of muggle machinery.

"Darling, everything in the muggle world is for sale or rent," she replied.

A few days later, Annie accompanied George and his father to the supply yard, the better to keep their eager excitement in check as they watched the materials being loaded by machine onto the flatbed truck. Arthur's eyes were like saucers watching the forklifts load and unload their pallets.

Once back at the Burrow, George bewitched each pallet to levitate itself off the truck and led them to the construction site. Annie watched him with an amazed smile as the raw ingredients of their home followed him like a train across the meadow toward the large hole dug into a hill in the distance.

The next morning - a Saturday - an army of young wizards reported for duty. George had recruited his entire family and their friends to help mix and pour the cement for the foundation. Of course, if it hadn't been for the heat of the day, not a single one of them would have even broken a sweat. He was by far the most physically active of the group, scrambling about with the blueprints in hand, ensuring drainage and plumbing pipes and support beams were magically held in their proper locations, and directing the work crew.

Annie had spent most of the morning helping his mother prepare lunch for the crowd, but still came over to see the activity before it was finished. He could tell by the look on her face that it was a spectacular sight to her: wands waving all about, wheelbarrows of cement being mixed by unmanned shovels and hoes, then levitating over to the proper place where they were unceremoniously dumped. Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves, all of them genially teasing him at every turn that he was working them too hard. He and Annie both were touched at the outpouring of their support.

Slowly, the house came together. After the foundation came the walls, then roof, then doors and windows. George was careful to use magic only in the process of building, rather than the materials themselves, thereby ensuring that Annie would be able to operate a few necessary electrical appliances without any lingering interference.

There were days when he was unable to work at the site, forced to halt temporarily due to weather or a delay in obtaining a critical supply. In that case, Annie would usually find him curled up somewhere in the Burrow's living room or kitchen, nose in a book about construction, or pouring over the blueprints spread out on the table.

"Aren't you the bookworm now?" she would say, sidling up next to him.

"Somebody has to put a roof over our heads," he would tease her. "You're not lifting a finger, are you?"

"You won't let me," she would argue.

"No excuse," he'd reply, kissing her on the top of the head or patting her stomach, then returning to his studies.

George managed to get it completely enclosed before the wet autumn weather could set in. By mid-September, the distance between the Burrow and the new house was difficult for Annie to manage with any frequency. So while George spent every day at the work site, Annie only visited when something significant was completed and he wanted to show her, like the fireplace, the kitchen cabinets, or the hardwood floors.

George's old school friend Lee began spending more and more time helping him, for which he could tell Annie was grateful. She didn't think it was good for him to be spending so much time alone - he needed to talk, not become a recluse, she would argue. As the days went by, George and Lee grew closer together as friends; a thought which cheered him as much as it did Annie. It did feel good to have company while he worked, even though they were usually very careful to avoid any discussion of Fred.

A few times Lee even brought Angelina with him. George hadn't been terribly surprised; it was no great secret Lee had fancied her for ages, and he was pleased for both of his friends that they had finally found some happiness in each other. But the first time she accompanied Lee, George was a bit uncomfortable with the way he often caught her looking at him; almost like he was a ghost. He could tell Annie noticed it too, as they all ate lunch together at the Burrow. Angelina's stare was a strange mix of sadness and longing, which left his wife feeling confused.

That night, Annie asked him about Angelina. He told her the basic details: Angelina had been in his same year at school, in Gryffindor, a chaser on the team. Suspicion began to cloud Annie's expression.

"Did you ever...? I mean, did you and she ever...?" she asked, having trouble putting her question into words.

"What?" he asked, honestly baffled.

"Were you ever a couple?" she said, uncomfortably spitting it out.

"ME? No, that was Fred," he assured her. "He took her to the Yule Ball, remember? They had a bit of a thing afterward.... Didn't end so well, now that I think about it," he mused aloud for her benefit.

He could tell Annie was relieved by his answer, but saw she was also upset with herself for having brought Fred to mind for him. Despite all his efforts to hide it, she could see how much it still hurt him, and Annie usually went to great lengths to avoid inflicting the pain. An effort which he appreciated, even as he felt ashamed for the necessity of it.

"I suppose that's likely the case for just about any female you went to school with, isn't it?" she said with a sigh.

George chuckled without thinking. It took him by surprise, laughing at a memory of Fred. He hadn't realized he was capable of it yet - taking pleasure in remembering his brother.

"Honestly, yes. He was a bit of a hound dog, wasn't he? I remember when you used to call him 'Casanova,'" he replied, pulling her closer to him. Her physical presence acted almost like an anesthetic, taking the edge off the aching loss.

Annie smiled with just a little bit of sadness, wrapping her arms securely around him like a bandage. "Just as long as I can continue to pretend you were saving yourself for me, I don't care how many of Fred's old conquests I have to face. Do me a favor and don't burst my bubble, okay?"

"It's a promise," he assured her, omitting how completely unnecessary the promise was, as she kissed him.

*

Annie stood amidst a sea of cardboard boxes. Ron had brought a dozen of them down from the attic this morning before he left to join George at the construction site, and she was sorting through them in the bright light of the living room of the house she had grown up in. It had only been on the market for a month before it sold, and now she had a mere Fortnight left to empty it out for the new family to move in.

"That enough for you?" Ron asked her as the final box came to rest on the floor at her feet.

Annie nodded. "How many do you think are left up there?" she asked.

"Not much more. Maybe six or seven. Well, if you're all right then, I'll be off. Oh, and George said to remind you..."

"Not to lift anything," she interrupted. "Right. For the hundredth time, I've got it. And please tell him to kiss my ass, from me," she added, smiling sarcastically.

"With pleasure," said Ron, smiling as he disappeared.

Annie took a seat on a small stool and began poking through the first box of the morning. Her Gran had not been much of a packrat, and neither of them set much store on the concept of heirlooms. "Knowledge and love are the only important things that must be passed on from one generation to the next," her Gran would often say. Therefore, if something was not immediately needed or used often enough, it had been gotten rid of already. Their frugal lifestyle had made this part of the grieving process a bit easier.

But it was still grief to be waded through, even though it was a completely different sort of sadness than the one she felt for Fred's loss. Her Gran had meant everything to her, but her death had not been unexpected. Both of them always knew, on some level, that it would happen eventually. They had had time to say goodbye to one another, and for that Annie was immeasurably thankful.

It was the way of things, after all; that the older generation passed away, and the younger ones left behind made their way without them. The idea that Gran's passing made sense in the larger overall purpose of the world made the sadness a bit softer, a bit easier to take. Unlike the other - the gut-wrenching, senseless rip in the fabric of her world that had once, but no longer, included Fred.

She shook her head then to clear away that thought, and threw herself into the work of the morning with new determination, keeping the other grief at bay, quieting the rattling cage within her. The box she had just opened contained old photo albums and loose pictures. Rather than sort through them singly, she decided to transfer the contents of the box in its entirety to a plastic tub, and marked it with its destination in her new home: OLD PHOTOS - ATTIC.

Annie spent the morning thus occupied, weeding through the old boxes. Most of the useable stuff was destined for a charity shop in Exeter: she had no need for the superfluous kitchen items, clothing, and knick-knacks. The rest of it, mostly reams of old files, would be thrown away. But she was touched to find that Gran had saved a few boxes of things especially for her that she had never known about. One contained a stack of carefully folded baby blankets; some were crocheted, some quilted, but all promised to come in very handy in the winter to come. She was also pleased to find a box of her childhood story books, which had been her mother's before her, and included full sets of Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh books, among others. She wondered if George would have ever heard of any of them.

Molly popped over just as Annie had finished moving the books, one by one, out of the beat-up cardboard box into a safer, sturdier plastic tub. It had been years since someone had made lunch for her, she reckoned, and Annie was touched by Molly's concern. They sat together at the kitchen table which Ron had called dibs on, anticipating being in a position to move out of the Burrow soon himself. He and Harry had been working on a scheme to get jobs at the Ministry and a flat together in London.

Annie and her mother-in-law chatted for a short while about the likelihood of the boys' plans while Molly warily eyed the half-dozen electrical kitchen appliances lined up on the counter. She knew they were destined for her husband's workshop, and was worried by how they might be enchanted in the near future.

"Sorry about that, Molly," Annie said, waving toward the collection of blenders and toasters and such. "But I couldn't say no - he was so excited about them...."

"I know dear. It's not your fault," she said with a rueful smile. "They do have an oddly determined, almost obsessive streak, don't they?" she said, referring to the one-track mind-set her husband had passed on to several of her children.

Annie smiled in agreement. "Almost like a bulldog, once they set their teeth into something." Like bloody quidditch, she grumbled to herself.

Molly chuckled. "You know, I was admiring your garden today," she said, changing the subject. "It looks to be in remarkable shape, considering it's been abandoned for more than half a year. Mind if I take a closer gander? I thought I might help out, when you're ready to take some cuttings or dig up some transplants, if you like."

"That would be wonderful!" Annie said, eagerly accepting her offer. "I especially want to bring some of the hawthorn with me. Gran always told me it's a tradition in our family to have a hawthorn in the garden. Said she brought this one with her from Wales," she added. She heaved herself up out of the chair and led Molly out the back door and down the steps.

"Ah - I see there are definitely some things here that mustn't be left behind," Molly chuckled. "I had a feeling, you know, that there might be something like this here," she added, indicating a few of the more mundane-looking magical plants the twins had smuggled out of her own garden and into Annie's over the years.

Annie smiled sheepishly. "Nothing too terribly noticeable. We were careful, because of Gran," she argued.

"Careful, were you?" Molly said with a laugh as Spud the garden gnome came scurrying over to Annie barking swear words in greeting. "The plants I can understand... but a gnome?"

"He's sort of a pet, actually," Annie giggled as she bent awkwardly down to tug out a dead tulip from amongst the overgrown weeds, offering him the dormant bulb. "We will most assuredly be relocating you, Spud," she called out as he headed back to his den.

"It really is a miracle we weren't run in on charges a hundred times over," Molly mused while shaking her head. "Between Arthur and his ridiculous hobbies, and you lot, I have no idea how we've avoided it as long as we have!" she cried.

"Just lucky, I suppose," laughed Annie.

"Yes, we were so lucky our very reckless sons made friends with a muggle child who knew how to keep her mouth shut, and kept our secret for... how long has it been now, dear?" Molly asked as she put her arm around Annie's shoulders.

"Thirteen years..." Annie mumbled, wincing at the thought and bracing herself for a tirade.

"Thirteen!" Molly spluttered. "Merlin's... well, his bleedin' unmentionables, that's what," she said, editing herself in front of her daughter-in-law. "I'll come back tomorrow for this nonsense, dear," she added, waving absently at the garden. "Don't work yourself too hard, now. Ginny will be over in a bit to help you move the boxes," Molly said with a hug and peck on the cheek for the mother of her imminent grandchildren, then disapparated.

It was late in the afternoon when Annie heard a knock on the front door. It was so unexpected that it startled her and made her jump. Her heart raced with the unwarranted adrenaline as she heard Ginny call out from the front room.

"I'll get it, Annie." A few seconds later, she heard her again. "Oh, very funny, Harry. You're hilarious..." Ginny said sarcastically.

"Er - no, it's Stephen, actually. Have we met? I'm sure I would remember someone as beautiful as you, love...."

Annie dashed down the hallway as quickly as she could manage. "Ginny! I'm coming! That's for me!" she called, desperate to rescue her sister-in-law from the voice she couldn't believe had the nerve to show up at her door.

"Annie?" she heard him call out in curious surprise.

"Stephen," she answered as she shoved him out the door in front of her and onto the porch. She poked her head back inside the door, asking Ginny to wait to start loading the truck, just before closing the door behind her. Then she turned to face Stephen.

She was prepared to launch into a tirade of her own, berating Stephen for daring to show his face again after their discussion nearly a year ago, last October. But the look on his face made her laugh out loud instead. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head, and his jaw was slack with shock.

"You're...." he started to speak, but was unable to complete a sentence.

"Pregnant. Yes. Brilliant observation skills. You should've been cop instead of a fireman, Stephen." She folded her hands on the top of her large belly, unconsciously displaying her wedding ring on her finger.

Stephen noticed it, eyes focused on it like a laser. "So you really...?"

"Got married? Yes. George and I are married now. You're on a roll, mate: two for two."

"Is that why..."

"Don't!" she interrupted fiercely, her hands clenching into angry fists. "Do not utter the offensive thing you were about to say. If you were clever enough to do the math, you would understand how stupid you sound right now."

"Right. You're right. Sorry - I guess I settle into some bad old habits around you," he admitted with a half-smile. "So - you're married, kid on the way.... Is that why you're selling the house?" he asked with a nod toward the sign in the front yard.

"For the most part, yes. Now that Gran is gone..." she said, softly. She was sad to think how his one careless sentence summed up the past ten months.

"Yeah, um... sorry about that. I heard, but I couldn't get off work to come...."

"It's okay - I understand, really," she assured him, managing to sound only slightly sarcastic. Her Gran's funeral would have been the last place she would've wanted to see him, anyway. Not that she could have imagined such a selfless act on his part.

"So... he's taking you away from here," Stephen said, disappointment in his voice.

Annie considered arguing the point; that George wasn't taking her anywhere she didn't already want to go. But it would be useless effort: Stephen would believe whatever he wanted to, regardless of what she told him.

"Yes. We're leaving Ottery."

"Are you going far?"

Annie paused. Physically, of course, the answer was no. She would spend her life on the other side of the small patch of woods Stephen could see beyond her shoulders, if he cared to look. But she was going where Stephen would never be admitted, could never follow. She was leaving his world behind.

"Yes. Pretty far."

"Where?" he asked.

Annie silently shook her head. She had no intention of answering. He had no right to ask.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, then," he said with a sad smile, standing up to leave.

"For the last time, yes. Goodbye, Stephen."

To his credit, he did not attempt a hug or kiss. Annie watched him walk down the steps of the porch to the street. He climbed into his car, sitting and watching her from inside. She turned to go back into the house, and face the third degree likely waiting her from Ginny.

It began before Annie got the door closed behind her.

"What was that?" Ginny demanded.

Annie looked into Ginny's eyes. They sparkled with indignant anger on behalf of her brother. In the distance, she could hear a car engine fire up, then drive away.

Annie sighed. "It's not what you're thinking, I swear. And it's a long story, but I'll tell you, if you really want to know."

They sat together in the front room while Annie told Ginny the whole story. How when she met Stephen as a young girl, she had been desperate for distraction, missing George and Fred so terribly. How she put up with his belittling treatment for so long, always afraid that her magical friends would tire of her some day, leaving her with nothing else. How it led to so many of her problems at school, her false reputation in town.

"He lied about that, and you let him live?" Ginny exclaimed in disbelief.

Annie smiled ruefully, wincing slightly at Ginny's choice of words. "Believe me, it was very hard to resist beating the shit him. But I swear to you, Ginny, George is the only one that I have ever loved that way..."

"Enough," Ginny interrupted her, holding up her hands to prevent her from continuing. "I don't need to hear it. I know it's true."

Annie took Ginny's hands and squeezed them in thanks. "You're the only one I've ever told the entire story to, you know. George has met Stephen once, believe it or not, but thinks he's nothing more than another old schoolmate of mine. He doesn't know the whole truth... and I don't want him to. Ever. I'm just afraid it would drive him insane, and he would do something stupid and macho and unnecessary. Can you understand that?"

Ginny nodded. "You're right. He can't ever find out. He would kill that idiot, if he knew."

"So you'll keep your mouth shut?" begged Annie.

Ginny nodded once more. "Your secret's safe with me." After a pause of several moments, she added teasingly, "What a sordid past you have, Annie!"

"Everybody here in this stupid town seems to think so, and that's been my problem my whole life," she replied, rolling her eyes.

*

It was early October when the four of them sat around the fire one rainy Sunday afternoon in the Burrow, discussing what to name the new house.

"Isn't it a bit pretentious: naming a house?" Annie asked, curiously. She was curled up in a chair with her legs tucked up underneath her, as usual. Her round belly visibly moved every once in a while, to George's utter entertainment. He sat on the floor at her feet, head leaning onto the tiny remnant of her lap, occasionally prodding her stomach in hopes of eliciting more movement.

"You think 'the Burrow' is pretentious?" his sister teased her.

Annie laughed. "Good point," she said, gently brushing George's poking hand away.

He ignored her and immediately went back to manually communicating with his unborn offspring.

"You have to give it a name - how else will you get your post?" Ron chimed in.

"We expect you to hand deliver it to us every morning," said George, batting his younger brother on the knee and only partially avoiding being kicked in the arm in retaliation.

"Let's not give Ron an excuse to drop in uninvited, shall we?" offered his wife, the barest blush beginning to break over her face. Ron had stumbled onto them kissing several times; thankfully nothing more, but so far that was only a matter of lucky timing.

"Excellent point, love," George agreed.

"It should be something compatible with the Burrow, anyway," said Ginny, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. "Maybe... the Den?"

"The Warren, more like," said Ron, giving George a pointed look.

George smiled at what he recognized was frustrated jealousy on his brother's part. He and Hermione were only just beginning to acknowledge their relationship, and it was apparently moving forward very slowly. "Poor Ron! Getting tired of all those cold showers, are you?" he teased his brother.

"Sick of hearin' all that bloody thumpin'!" spat Ron under his breath, getting riled.

"George!" cried Annie, interrupting Ron and swatting George's head simultaneously.

"He's lying. He can't hear anything but the ghoul bangin' around up there," muttered George, glaring at his trouble-making brother. Ron's bedroom was separated from theirs by three floors; George was confident he couldn't hear what he was referring to. Annie was already leery enough, due to the number of people in the house now, and he would personally be making Ron's life hell if she became any more reluctant because of his stupid comment.

"Let's see.... What about the Nest? Or the Roost?" cried Ginny, desperate to prevent a verbal argument about sex noises between her brothers and her sister-in-law from occurring in front of her.

"The Hole?" added Ron unhelpfully, still smarting.

"Is it really that important? I think we're making a mountain out of a mole hill," argued Annie.

"That's perfect!" Ginny squealed with delight. "Mole Hill! Your house even looks like it's tunneling out of a little hill...."

George pondered her suggestion for a moment. "I like it," he admitted, looking up at his wife with a half-smile.

Annie answered him with a half-smile of her own, amused at the idea. "Mole Hill it is, then."