George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 37: Work

March 1999

George, Molly, Ginny and Ron had spent long hours over the last month working to get ninety-three Diagon Alley back in shape to open as Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes once more. It took three days just to clean up the mess left behind by vandals, another two weeks to repair and paint the walls and fixtures, and nearly a whole month to create enough inventory to re-stock the shelves. The preparation stage was nearly over now; another week and George would open his doors for business once more.

"Well, I'm off," George said one morning as he downed the last of a cup of coffee. He was dressed in paint-splattered jeans, worn t-shirt, and his grubbiest old shoes. "Ginny and I are going to tackle the windows today. What an unholy mess all those posters made," he said while shaking his head. "I'll never do that again, for sure. It'll be nice to see the sun shine through them again."

"Are you sure I can't do anything to help?" Annie asked. The twins were seated in side-by-side bouncy seats on the floor, kicking and screeching joyously in tandem. She was mixing up a bottle of formula for little Art while pulling out some food from the refrigerator for George to take to work with him for lunch at the same time.

"Like you don't have your hands full here," he chuckled as they both noticed some sofa pillows begin bouncing around the room behind them. "I can make my own lunch, you know," he added, gently taking over for her and nudging her aside with his hip.

Annie jogged over to the twins, caught the pillows out of midair before they became too dangerously energetic and tossed them into the guest room, shutting the door behind her. Luckily for her, it was out of sight, out of mind for the babies. They redirected their efforts to batting at the toys suspended from a bar on their seats with their hands and feet.

"Just trying to be Wonder Woman," she laughed as she walked back toward him, and the kitchen.

"I'll let you if you promise to wear the costume," he joked back, amused by the obscure reference from their past. The three of them had gone through a comic book faze one summer as kids. George and his brother had thought the stories of superheroes with such fantastical powers were hilarious, which had led to several interesting conversations regarding the limitations of what magic could and could not do.

At least, George and Annie had had the conversations. Fred hadn't been interested much. Fred had always preferred action to discussion. George sighed quietly and redirected his attention to making a sandwich before any more of the darker thoughts could weigh him down. It would be hard enough today, trying to keep them at bay, while he was at the shop....

"I will if you promise to enchant me my own invisible jet," she laughed, coming back into the kitchen to collect a bottle.

"Deal," he agreed, swatting her rump as she headed back to the living room. "But are you sure you wouldn't rather have the lasso? I know I would...."

Annie rolled her eyes and snorted. "Have you thought anymore about my suggestion?" she asked him as she sat down on the floor in front of the twins. She was referring to her idea for a muggle-style grand opening celebration, with prizes for customers and free samples. George had been intrigued by the idea and had promised to consider it.

"Yeah. I spoke to Millie Malkin about it yesterday, and she thinks it's a good idea, too. She said she might even do something similar on the day," he called out to her over his shoulder as he finished packing his lunch for the commute. "She also mentioned it to that Rodgers bloke over at Flourish and Blott's - said he seemed keen as well."

"All of you should go in together and take out a big advertisement in the Prophet then, to publicize it," she suggested. She picked up little Fred and laid him across her lap, preparing to nurse him. Once he latched on, she had found she could prop a bottle into Art's mouth with a free hand.

"Aren't you the savvy one?" he teased her as he walked into the room on his way out. He had been thinking exactly the same thing, just before falling asleep last night, and planned to chat with his Diagon Alley neighbors about it this morning.

He was arrested momentarily by the sight of Annie, hunched over awkwardly, sitting cross-legged on the floor with both twins greedily slurping away. "Is that how you've been managing it while I've been gone?" he chuckled in disbelief.

"Don't laugh. It works," she said warningly.

"Blimey, you are Wonder Woman," he said as he bent down to kiss the top of her head.

"I'll expect my jet by the weekend," she said, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"See you later," he chuckled, stepping into the fireplace.

"Have a good day," she offered as he disappeared into green flames.

*

The day had finally come. George had promised to take Annie to Diagon Alley for the first time today: the day before the grand re-opening of the store. After three years of hearing about the shop but never being allowed to see it, she was at last going to visit Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. And he would finally get the chance to introduce her to what amounted to the wizarding world as his wife, with no more fear of repercussions. George had to admit he was nearly as excited as Annie seemed to be.

Annie had been too keyed up about the trip to sleep well the night before, and as they lay in bed she peppered George with so many questions he finally made love to her in order to shut her up and make her fall asleep. Though judging by her eager enthusiasm to participate, he strongly suspected afterward that perhaps her primary goal had been sex rather than information in the first place.

As they stood before their fireplace, wearing dark grey traveling cloaks as a precaution against the soot (and the flames as well - George was unsure how completely Annie would be protected from the magical flames so he had made hers doubly-fireproof), he attempted to explain the process to her once more.

"It'll feel like we're spinning very fast. Just hold on to me tightly," he explained, remembering how his father had taken him to the Ministry once as a small child. It had been the only day he had ever spent alone with his father, before.... But he shook off the thought quickly. It was important to concentrate on the task at hand. "And keep your elbows tucked in close. You can close your eyes if you want," he offered.

"Okay," she answered, with a bit of nervous excitement. "Let's do it, then."

They stepped together into the cold hearth. Annie tucked herself under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist. He draped his cloak around her as he pressed her close with one arm.

"Have fun!" his mother called out, waving her fingers goodbye and smiling at them both encouragingly. She had offered to babysit the twins for the afternoon so Annie could travel with him.

"Diagon Alley!" George called out as he tossed the handful of Floo powder at his feet.

Annie felt like she was in the center of a flaming green tornado. She had promised herself to try to keep her eyes open, not wanting to miss seeing any part of this magical experience. But after a mere second she was feeling dizzy and sick, and her eyelids clamped down of their own accord. The next thing she knew, George seemed to take a step out of the roaring chaos of the tornado, pulling her along with him and onto something firm. The whooshing noise stopped instantly.

"We're here," he whispered.

Annie opened her eyes. Before her was a comfortingly stationary, quiet and dark tavern. She guessed it looked largely unchanged from the medieval period when it was likely created. It was smoky and smelled of stale beer and pea soup. She noticed an ancient-looking man standing behind the bar, as soon as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

"Hello, George!" called the hunched-back man with a far stronger voice than she would have expected from someone who looked so decrepit. "And this must be your Annie, at last," he added, smiling at her to reveal nothing but pink gums.

"Hello," Annie said with as much confidence as she could fake at the moment, stepping out from beneath George's cloak.

"Annie, this is Tom, the barman here at the Leaky Cauldron," George said as they walked together toward the fellow. She was touched by her husband's excited grin.

"George here has told us so much about you," Tom nodded.

"None of it is true," Annie said with a wink, her confidence growing with Tom's friendly manner. "George is a massive liar."

Tom laughed loudly while George smirked good-naturedly. "No... I reckon he told the truth about you, lassie," he replied.

The two of them removed their heavy cloaks and draped them over their arms. Annie began to look around her, noticing maybe ten patrons in the tavern seated at scattered tables. Many of them were looking at her and George with varying degrees of mild to moderate curiosity. The two of them stood out like sore thumbs, she realized, dressed as they were in jeans, t-shirts and fleece pullover jackets. Everyone else was wearing robes and other flamboyant wizard clothing; several of them were sparkling, and in one witch's case, faintly glowing in the darkness.

George promised Tom they'd be back for a meal later, then escorted her through the back door into a small courtyard. He tapped on a few of the bricks with his wand, like it was a combination to a lock, and led her through the magical opening that subsequently appeared.

Annie at last set foot onto Diagon Alley with George by her side, arm in arm.

"Where are we?" she asked in a hushed voice, her eyes roving between the shops lining the cobbled street.

George conjured up a map of London with a wave of his wand, startling Annie because he didn't typically do magic so casually or blatantly in front of her, not to mention in public. It still thrilled her a little bit, whenever he did. She reminded herself that here, on this magical street, he had nothing to hide anymore, thereby calming her habitual apprehension.

He searched it for a few moments, then pointed to a spot. "Here, sort of," he said.

"Sort of?" she asked, confused. How could a location be approximate?

"Yeah. Diagon Alley's unplottable, see. The doorway of the Leaky Cauldron opens onto Charing Cross Road, halfway down between Old Compton Street and Denmark Street. So that would mean Diagon Alley is in this general spot," he explained, moving his finger around an area encompassing several blocks.

"That doesn't make any sense," she argued. Those blocks of London/reality occupied the area indicated on the map, none of which were labeled Diagon Alley. How could this magical street exist on top of, or hidden inside, or extra-dimensionally alongside London? The concept was too esoteric for her distracted mind at the moment, she reckoned. She'd have to ponder it later.

"You asked," he argued back, shrugging. The map in his hands vanished into thin air with a wave of his fingers.

Annie was enchanted by the street that stretched out before her. It was a scene out of... Dickens? No, she thought, wrong by several centuries - more like Shakespeare. Buildings likely built during the reign of the first Elizabeth stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning out over the narrow street as if peering down at her.

It was mid-afternoon, overcast and chilly but dry. She scanned the wrought iron and wooden signs that hung over the street as they walked by, recognizing familiar names from conversations with George over the years: Madam Malkin, Flourish and Blott's, Eeyelops. Down the street she saw the sign for Ollivander's, which brought to mind the old man who had lived with them for a short while at George's Aunt Muriel's. She smirked when they passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies, the store that had been the bane of her existence for several years, she reckoned.

A few shoppers were out and about, most giving her quizzical looks, but nearly all the other shopkeepers made a point of greeting George enthusiastically as he made the rounds, introducing Annie to them in turn. While most of them had a quick word with him about the street-wide grand opening celebration he had apparently taken charge of, she would wander within the shops, marveling at the magical stuff there.

They finally reached number ninety-three, and Annie took in the sight of George's storefront. Stunned into silence for a moment, she tried to decide if it was what she had expected or not. The riot of garish colors, painted up like a Victorian whore of a building, nearly hurt her eyes. Fuschia and brown and plum and yellow and olive green all fought with each other tooth and nail for attention. Annie could see through the windows that Ginny was already inside, arranging inventory on display shelves. She paused to wave at the two of them through the window.

"What do you think?" George asked her impatiently.

"Are you colorblind, love?" she asked softly, genuinely wondering if it was possible something like that could have escaped her notice before now. It was the only explanation she could think of how anyone could find this... regurgitated rainbow... remotely pleasing.

George laughed and shook his head. "Fred chose the color scheme. I didn't feel like changing it. Plus, we had loads of the old paint left over."

"So you're telling me he was the colorblind one?" she teased.

"I never thought about it before, but maybe you're on to something...." George squinted at the shop's entrance. "Fred always did like things to be colorful."

Annie smiled at him and took his hand. "Show me the inside," she suggested, before the thoughts of Fred threatened to turn the happy, exciting day into a sad one.

Once inside, Annie was overwhelmed by the distracting displays of pranksters' supplies. It was a troublemaker's paradise. The fake wands and extendable ears sat quietly next to a jostling basket full of decoy detonators. A lovely antique wood and glass case displayed the various trick sweets he and Fred had developed over the years. One wall was dedicated to a menu of fireworks available for special order. It resembled the flashing electric scoreboards one finds at large sports stadiums.

"It's amazing! Better than I dreamed it," she raved. The calamitous color scheme seemed more apropos in here; a better fit with the promise of mayhem and limitless potential for disaster all around. Annie offered up a sacrificial shudder in honor of all the parental and professorial anguish about to be unleashed. She imagined the name of Weasley was about to be roundly cursed by them, at least as much as it would be spoken of in hushed and reverential tones by legions of teenage boys and girls.

"Thanks, it's all due to me," Ginny chimed in. "And by the way, can I have an advance on my wages, dear brother?" she asked in her sweetest tone of voice.

"What happened to the money I paid you Friday?" he asked, playing the role of stern elder brother to the hilt.

"None of your bloody business," Ginny retorted, all pretense of sweetness gone.

"What on earth do you need more for now?" he inquired less than politely.

"A girl has to eat! I was planning to head over to the new noodle place. I heard the squirming spaghetti is excellent."

"Will it get you out of here for a while then?" he asked her, sounding hopeful and looking annoyed. He tossed her a couple galleons from his pocket.

"Absolutely. I promise to take a ridiculously long lunch hour. Please be discreet, you two, and try not to knock over the large stack of Snackboxes in the back room I've been slaving over today," she said as she dashed out the door.

George was hard on her heels. "That's not what I meant, brat!" he yelled down the street after her, leaning out the door. He turned back to Annie as the door shut behind him. "We've somehow gotten a rather unsavory reputation amongst my family, you know," he scolded his wife, looking askance at her as if she was responsible.

"Don't look at me! You're the one who's insatiable." She giggled as he plastered a shocked look on his face.

"You're the one who can't say no," he laughed, unable to sustain the pretense. "Moral fiber," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

A few minutes later, as he was pointing out to her some of the Knockturn Alley buildings visible from the window of the back room, they heard the bell ring in front. Annie followed George out to see who had come in, since the shop had not yet officially opened for business.

"Verity! It's good to see you!" George called out, sounding pleased. He had mentioned to Annie that he had contacted his one-time employee to ask her to return to her job. They had received a reply a few days later from her, accepting the offer. He was relieved not to have to train someone new in such a short amount of time.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," a young, pretty woman smiled as she walked timidly into the shop.

"Annie, this is Verity Parson. You remember me speaking about her - she used to work for us before. And please, Verity, call me George already. This is my wife, Annie," he added with a smile, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze.

Annie smiled reassuringly at the shy witch. "Hello, Verity. I remember George and Fred both speaking very highly of you," she said.

"Oh!" Verity exclaimed quietly, looking surprised. Annie wasn't sure whether it was due to the fact that she wasn't expecting to see Annie here, or if she was shocked that Fred and George would have mentioned her. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley," she said politely.

Annie sensed something was off: something about the young woman's eyes that put her on her guard. For some reason, Annie felt like her presence was adding to Verity's discomfort - her gaze was darting among the displays, almost... nervously. She suspected the girl was considering dashing back out the door, like she might be regretting the decision to return.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come back and help. You've really saved me," George said as he made his way back behind the stockroom curtain, either unaware of Verity's discomfort or choosing to ignore it. "I'll be back out in a minute with your uniform robes," he called out from the other room.

Annie surreptitiously observed Verity while pretending to be fascinated by the boxes of daydream charms. She now noticed a familiar, brief look pass over the blonde girl's features as she watched George walk away: a sort of sad, disappointed longing, combined with a pained, spooked sort of expression. Like Verity was being confronted by a ghost of someone she had loved. Annie had seen the look once before - on the face of Angelina Johnson, now days away from becoming Angelina Jordan.

Annie began to follow the trail of logic. Angelina, like Verity, had found it somewhat disturbing to be in George Weasley's presence since the death of his twin. Angelina had confessed as much to Annie as they had spent time together, gotten to know one another, even become friends, over the past several months. Annie knew from George that Angelina and Fred had had a bit of a fling when they were in school, therefore....

Oh dear. Annie wondered if George understood the awkward position he had put himself in by rehiring one of Fred's old flames. And while Angelina had moved on beyond her teenage romance with Fred, Verity possibly still held a candle for him, by the looks of it....

Annie puzzled for a moment why it wasn't the same for her. Why didn't she view George as a ghostly reminder of Fred? She supposed it must have something to do with the fact that she had loved George first, and best, rather than the other way around, like Angelina, and apparently Verity had done. She found it odd that they were so easily able to confuse their attraction to Fred with what must be a hollow echo of feeling for his brother George. The concept seemed impossible to her.

"Er... Mrs. Weasley?"

Annie was startled from her reverie by Verity's formal address. She looked at the girl, who somehow wore every emotion she felt, every thought she was thinking clearly on her face. Poor thing, Annie sympathized. She could see that while a part of Verity certainly wished there was no such thing as a Mrs. Weasley, she was also decent enough to have no intention of contesting the fact.

"Please call me Annie. I feel like Mrs. Weasley is my mother-in-law," Annie replied with another reassuring smile.

"Um... did I understand you to say that... Fred used to speak of me?" she asked.

Annie's heart went out to her as tears began to well up in Verity's eyes. And while Annie had for the most part made the comment to be kind, she decided it couldn't hurt to soothe the girl's aching heart with a bit of embellishment.

"Oh, yes," she told her. "He used to say how he thought you were kind... and clever...." Annie felt about blindly for more nice, generic, non-committal things to say, something that might cheer Verity. "And pretty. I can see he was right about that," she added for effect.

Verity dropped her gaze to the floor, smiling and blushing. "Fred was very sweet to me," she said in a hushed voice.

I'm sure he was... Annie thought, and then sighed as a picture of a dashing Fred, smiling as he danced with an eager bar-girl, came to mind. "Fred was a very charming man," Annie agreed.

"I miss him," Verity added in a whisper, trying to discreetly wipe away tears from her cheeks.

Annie helped her out by looking out the window. "We all do," she commiserated, patting the girl on the shoulder. Oh, Fred - how many broken hearts have you left behind?

"Here you are!" George said as he emerged from behind the curtain with several bright fuchsia robes on hangers. His attention was directed to the robes, not the women, so he didn't notice that he startled them.

"Good Lord, George! Don't tell me that's what you're forcing her to wear when she works here!" Annie exclaimed as she got a look at the uniform.

"What's wrong with them?" George said defensively as Verity began to smile.

"No one on the planet looks good in fuschia, for heaven's sake!" Annie cried, glad she could cheer Verity out of her sad moment of missing Fred. "If I were you, Verity, I'd refuse to wear them. It's not fair...."

"What do you mean, 'not fair?' We all wear them," explained George, examining the robes as he held them up, completely at a loss as to why the two women were now laughing at him.

"Oh, no!" Annie wailed. "Not you, too! You must look utterly ridiculous - or is that the whole point?" she said, nearly laughing hard enough to cry.

"Ridiculous?!" he cried, beginning to get riled.

"Do you not have a mirror in here? Honestly... fuschia... with your hair and coloring? My God, you must be a sight in those. Tell me the truth, Verity. How did you not bust a gut working here before?"

"It wasn't easy," she confessed, tentatively joining in the teasing as George continued to splutter indignantly. "But I got used to it, after a few weeks," Verity said, smiling but doing a much better job at containing her amusement than Annie was.

"George, it's cruel to make anyone wear such hideous things," Annie teased.

"She's never complained before! Have you, Verity?" George said in an accusing voice.

"I guess they're not so bad, really," Verity admitted sheepishly.

"There!" George smirked at Annie in victory. "Now stop trying to cause trouble, you meddling cow!" he demanded, putting his wife in a headlock and winking at Verity to let her know they were just playing around.

"She's only saying that because you're her stupid, mean boss!" cried Annie into his elbow, pushing against his back and arm with her hands, straining to escape.

"No, she's only saying it because she's polite, you horrible shrew," he replied, handing the robes to Verity. "You should take lessons from her."

Annie slapped him on the backside. She could hear Verity laughing at the silliness of the situation.

"Not in front of the employee, dear," he teased her. "Sorry you had to see this, Verity. Not a pretty picture, is it?"

Annie screeched in frustration, jerking violently in an attempt to break his hold, and nearly knocking George off his feet. He successfully maintained his grip, however.

"Don't hurt yourself, love," he scolded her after righting himself. Then he redirected his attention to his employee, and in an unruffled manner, said, "Thanks for coming by, Verity."

"Let me go!" Annie demanded. "Now!"

"Certainly. As soon as you apologize for fomenting rebellion amongst the ranks."

"The ranks? You have one frigging employee, who helps you out of a misguided sense of pity on her part! Now that she sees what a troll you truly are, you'll have none!"

"Did you hear an apology in there, Verity?"

"Don't drag me into it, Mr.... I mean, George," Verity answered, laughing.

"You will be punished for this!" Annie howled in aggravation. "I don't mean you, Verity," she added in a far calmer, friendlier voice.

"That's a threat, stupid. Not an apology. Try again," George taunted her.

"George! This is starting to hurt!" Annie complained falsely.

"Oh, sorry," he said, releasing her instantly.

Annie grabbed and twisted an inch of flesh just under her husband's armpit as she dashed away from him, out of immediate reach. George roared in pain and swatted at her in vain.

"Sorry about that, Verity. It's been very nice to meet you. Would you like to join us for dinner?" Annie offered, smoothing her hair and smiling at the young woman who was looking amused by their antics. "I promise we can pretend to be mature adults for your sake."

"No, thanks," she answered, smiling in return. "I've got some other errands to run."

"See you tomorrow, early," George called out as Verity left. "Nice girl," he said to Annie once they were alone. "I'm lucky she decided to come back."

"Very nice," Annie agreed. "And very pretty...."

"Aw," George laughed. "Feeling threatened, are we? That's adorable, that is."

"Which of you hired her?" Annie asked, giggling as George took her into his arms.

"Mutual decision, of course," he said, beginning to get that faraway, I'm-thinking of-Fred-now look. "It was down to Verity or an older fellow named Ed. I thought Ed was a bit better at the charm work required, but Fred argued we'd likely sell more with her in the front room. He was right, as usual."

"I'm not surprised Fred chose the pretty girl over the bloke, but I am a bit shocked you didn't see through it."

"How d'you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I'm hungry. Let's go eat," she suggested, avoiding the subject for a bit.

George looked at her dubiously, then shrugged. "I need to run to the bank first," he said.

They left the shop, George enchanting the door to lock behind them, and he led her further down the street to an imposing vault of a building. The name Gringott's Bank was carved into the marble above towering columns. He explained that he needed to make a final deposit of money leftover from the mail order business during the war: the last stash of galleons from Aunt Muriel's place.

Annie spent the next twenty minutes astounded by the bizarre sights she encountered: goblins dressed like very small, very ugly Victorian gentlemen; a harrowing trip on an underground roller coaster; magical vault doors that opened with a touch of a finger. But of all the marvelous stuff she'd seen that day, both within the bank and outside it on Diagon Alley, the most mind-boggling thing was the enormous pile of money in George's vault.

"How much money do you have?" she gasped, her eyes forced to almost squint in the glare coming off a storybook pirate's treasure worth of gold and silver coins.

"We have," he corrected her, emptying out a sack, adding even more to the pile and causing a small avalanche of coins. "And don't forget half of it was Fred's - that bit's mostly getting rolled back into inventory. And I owe you still for some of the cache supplies...."

"George, how much is this?" Annie demanded, losing patience with his dodging of the question.

"About ten thousand galleons, give or take," he said, his voice a mixture of nervous discomfort and glowing pride in the subject matter. He absently scratched the back of his neck.

"That's after we paid for the house?!" she exclaimed. She started doing the math. With one galleon roughly equaling five pounds... that was fifty thousand pounds! And he had been out of business - not sold a thing since before the final battle of the war - for nearly a whole year!

"We used your money for the house, remember?" he argued, referring to the inheritance and portion of the proceeds from the sale of her Gran's house, which she had forgotten had paid for the materials to build Mole Hill. Since they hadn't had to purchase land, or pay labor costs, the materials alone were the sum total cost of the house. It had been easier at the time to just use the muggle account, rather than bother with the hassle of exchanging wizarding money.

"That's our money as well, remember?" she corrected him, then turned to ogle at the contents of the vault once more. Whatever money she had in the muggle bank in Ottery, virtually the entirety of it was her inheritance from Gran, which she had done nothing to earn. She felt overwhelmed yet again today, this time by George's success.

"You're loaded!" she whispered, staring incredulously at his face.

"We're loaded," he corrected her with a smile. "Half of all our good ideas were yours, you know. Not to mention the books you gave us, to get us started...."

"No!" she said, dismissing his equivocating. "You're filthy, stinking RICH!" she cried, barely able to process the reality.

She had always known the twins had found some success in business... had always predicted they would be massively so, eventually. But to see it had come to fruition already, manifested in the obscene pile of gold before her, was something else entirely.

"Shut up!" he said, getting slightly defensive about being wealthy.

She punched him in the arm, unable to think of anything else to say.

The ride back to the surface was a quiet one. Annie wished she could have paid more attention to the trip - some part of her mind recognized that the thrilling ride should be more fun than it was - but she couldn't help but obsess over what she had seen.

She wasn't jealous of George's success; she was very happy for it, in fact, and felt it was well-deserved. Nor was she upset that he hadn't told her in detail just how successful he and Fred had been - that would have been bragging and she knew better than to expect that from him. It was more like she was upset at herself for being so surprised by it; for failing to recognize how truly amazing his accomplishment was. His many accomplishments, she corrected herself dejectedly.

She was married to Superman, she mused. A war hero who had risked his life over and over again to save others. A brilliant, inventive entrepreneur who was wildly successful, and likely to be even more so in the future. A wizard who magically built the house she lived in. The sweetest, nicest, most decent human being she had ever met, next to her Gran.

How much smaller, how much more insignificant could she be?

Stop it! she commanded her brain, determined not to wallow in such self-destructive thoughts. It wasn't George's fault he was so wonderful. And it wasn't just her good fortune he chose to be with her. After all these years, she recognized that he kept coming back to her, for some good reason. He loved her, and that ought to say something about her better qualities, as well. He knew he could trust her. She was nice, too, she reckoned. And made him laugh. That counted for something, surely. Even a superhero needed a place to rest his head and just be human for a while.

"I never would have taken you in there if I knew you were going to get upset," he said as they walked outdoors in the open street once more, finally breaking the silence.

"I'm not upset, George. Just... humbled. And terribly proud of you, by the way." She was ashamed that she was punishing him with her somber mood. He deserved better from her.

"I told you, it wasn't just me! You and Fred did as much, if not more than I ever did to earn it," he argued in an exasperated tone, nudging her gently with his elbow.

"And of course, you're modest and humble about it, as well," Annie sighed.

"It's utterly maddening that you refuse to see how much we owed it to you... how much I owe you still!" George said, rolling his eyes and throwing up his hands in frustration.

Annie smiled. She didn't feel like arguing about it anymore. Or even thinking about it. It was sweet of him to try so hard to make her feel better, to feel like she had contributed.

"Okay. Dinner is on you, then, Moneypants," she offered. "And I'm getting dessert, too," she teased.

George laughed in relief that the conversation could finally be dropped. "Right. And then you will explain that scandalous comment you made about why Fred hired Verity instead of Old Ed...."

*

Annie woke up out of habit. She glanced at the clock: two a.m. Even though the twins were now thankfully sleeping through the night, she still woke up at their usual feeding time. She quietly got up out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom.

She had just climbed back into bed and arranged the covers back around her when she felt George sidle up behind her.

"Sorry.... Did I wake you?" she whispered.

"No. I was already awake," he whispered back, molding himself around her.

A smile began creeping across her face; she could feel he had divested himself of his pajamas while she was in the bathroom. Clearly, he was maneuvering with a motive. She decided to have a bit of fun and play dumb.

"What do you want?" she asked innocently, yawning, as he pressed his face into the hair on the back of her head and inhaled. The hairs on the back of her neck always stood up whenever he did that.

"To make good use of a rare moment we're alone and not asleep," he replied. His fingertips stroked her abdomen - he claimed to like the rippled texture of the stretch marks there. Annie was dubious, but had been touched that he would try to make her feel better about them.

"What woke you?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"Dunno," he replied, kissing the little dragon on the back of her neck, sending a wave of chills that flew down her spine to lodge at the base of her pelvis.

She knew that was a lie. He had been distracted the whole evening since they had gotten back from Diagon Alley, and had probably lain awake all night, fretting about the grand opening celebration now just a few hours away.

He began kissing her neck, in the spot he knew would quickly get her going. It was working.

"There's no reason to be nervous about today, you know," she said, trying to reassure him. It was bound to be a raging success: the re-opening of the Wheezes shop. Everything he touched always was. She rolled onto her back and his kisses traveled along the necklace chain to her heart pendant.

"I'm not nervous. I'm horny," he argued softly as he pushed her pajama pants off.

She wiggled a bit and helped kick them off with her legs. "It's going to be fine. Better than fine," she averred, lifting her arms above her head as he pulled his old quidditch practice t-shirt off of her. She rested them around his neck when he tossed it to the floor.

"Be quiet, will you?" he said, insinuating himself to lie between her legs.

"You'll be more successful than your wildest dreams," she persisted, knowing her sort-of-over-the-top, half-teasing encouragement was pleasing him at least as much as it was annoying him.

He was kissing along her collarbone from her shoulder toward her neck, one hand rested along her jaw with his fingertips in her hair. "Please stop talking about it," he requested, pressing his thumb firmly on her lips as he began nibbling on her ear.

She smiled, then tickled his thumb with the tip of her tongue. A low, quiet chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat as she opened her mouth and gently bit down on the thumb for a moment, letting a hushed giggle escape herself. His hand pulled away from her neck and traveled down to cup a breast.

"Nothing will stop you now," she whispered into his ear, then began kissing his neck. She was only partly talking about his business ventures.

"I'm begging you to shut up," he groaned as she began to slowly move her hips against him.

"The world will be at your feet," she purred and curled her hands around the back of his skull, delighting in the silky feel of his hair tangled in her fingers.

"Shh," he whispered, kissing her mouth.

"We'll be rolling in galleons," she mumbled against his lips, unable to resist one more teasing comment, referencing her discovery of this afternoon. She kissed him back, on fire now as well.

He silenced her for a moment with his tongue, until she began to moan with pleasure.