George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 41: Bygones

August 2000 - June 2001

A shaft of sunlight illuminated the long table where a dozen people were arranged, laughing and joking with each other. Plates and pint glasses littered the table's surface. The party made up the majority of the occupants of the dim tavern, and the cool darkness was a welcome respite from the blazing heat awaiting them outside. No one was in any hurry to leave.

"Happy birthday, brat," said George, tossing a small package across the table. It landed on the empty but dirty dish in front of his sister, causing the fork to clatter to the floor.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him in response and gingerly picked the present up between two fingers.

"Are you just gonna take that from him, then?" asked Harry, teasing her.

"Butt out, Potter. You're not family yet," warned George playfully.

"You're just jealous because Mum likes Harry better than she likes you," laughed Ron.

"And she likes strangers better than you, git," George retorted.

"She's always liked me best," boasted Percy.

"Small wonder, the way you kiss her ass all the time," muttered George.

"Mama's boy," added Bill, smirking in agreement. He high-fived George as they laughed together.

"Isn't every boy a mama's boy?" asked Art from his perch on his mother's lap.

"Technically, yes," Annie agreed with a smile, giving his curly hair a tousle. "But that's not precisely what Uncle Bill means."

"No, son - you give your mother far too much trouble to qualify as a mama's boy. You are what's called a hellion," corrected his father.

"Am I a hellion too, Dad?" asked Fred.

"Absolutely," George assured him.

A round of gentle laughter echoed through the room as Percy smugly added, "Like father, like son."

Several eyes glanced up in casual curiosity as emerald flames flared in the fireplace nearby. The laughter around the table died awkwardly a moment later.

Annie looked up as four people she had never seen before emerged from the fireplace. Three of them were tall, blonde, aristocratic sorts: an older couple, perhaps slightly younger than her mother- and father-in-law, with what was unquestionably their son. The other was a pale, raven-haired girl, clearly unrelated but with a similar demeanor, who had her arm possessively around the younger man's.

The people looked about themselves at their surroundings. Their noses wrinkled in obvious distaste. Annie wondered if they had perhaps never been to the Leaky Cauldron before, and had not known what to expect. Maybe they were foreigners? She granted that the dingy little tavern took a bit of getting used to, certainly, but it wasn't really all that bad....

The tall, haughty man's gaze fell onto the occupants of her table. His expression instantly turned into one of utter contempt.

Annie glanced around her in alarm. The feeling intensified as she discovered every single one of the Weasleys was glaring back at the newcomers with loathing. What on earth...?

"Well, well. I see how the Weasleys are moving up in the world. And dragging the usual shameful assortment of half-breeds and mudbloods along with them," the man's icy voice sneered.

Annie's jaw dropped, shocked by his vicious rudeness. She had certainly endured her share of nasty behavior from the ignorant boors at school, but this was her first face-to-face encounter with the wizard-variety, pure-blooded bigotry she had only heard about up until now.

The situation disintegrated in an instant. She heard seven chairs simultaneously scrape the floor as everyone bolted up from the table. Bill, Ginny and George had drawn their wands, glaring hatefully at the insulting man. To her dread, Annie saw the stranger had done the same. She stood as well and grabbed a hold of the twins' hands, pulling them behind to her.

"No!" cried the blonde woman, grabbing for her husband's wand arm. She was weakly tugging on the man's arm to no effect. The young man and his girlfriend took several steps backward, distancing themselves from the pending fracas.

In the same moment, Fleur rushed up to Bill. "He is not worth it!" she cried, succeeding in pushing a snarling Bill a few steps away from the confrontation and begging him to back down.

Tom the barman added his own shouts from behind the bar. "No wands drawn in my inn! I'll have no wands! Put them away or take it outside!"

Harry had dashed from his seat and was now standing between the Weasleys and their pale assailant, arms braced outward to keep the factions separated. "It's over now! Stop it! It's over!"

Percy was standing behind Bill and George, urging them to calm down and listen to Harry. Ron and Hermione were struggling to subdue Ginny, who was attempting to charge forward and perhaps tackle the other family by brute force if necessary.

George slowly shook his head in response to Harry, Percy and Tom, keeping his wand pointed directly at the enemy's nose. In his mind, he recalled the innumerable insults, the unforgivable attacks over the years: what happened to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets; to his father at the Burrow; the night of Bill's wedding.

It is not over. It is far from over, in fact. This slimy, slithering son of a bitch doesn't deserve to draw a free breath, no matter what Harry says to the contrary. Azkaban is too good for him....

"Not in front of your children, George," Annie begged quietly.

His wife's voice broke into the vengeance-fueled storm that was taking over his mind. He looked at her; saw his twin sons peeking out from behind her legs. The worry, shock and fear in their faces sapped his anger, and he slowly let his wand fall.

The evil man's eyes narrowed with understanding as he watched George, then looked at Annie, taking in her rounded, pregnant belly. "She's a clever one, your wife," he sneered, as if the idea was disgusting to him. "For a muggle, that is," he added.

Annie could see by the look in his eyes he was daring George to retaliate; that he considered the word muggle to be an insult of the highest degree.

George slowly turned his head back toward the man, eyes narrowed in suspicion, a new understanding beginning to dawn. For a moment, Annie saw the man's expression falter, as if he recognized that he had perhaps said something he shouldn't have. Then the over-confident sneer returned in the next instant.

"Come on, Father," the younger blonde man urged him, speaking for the first time. "Let's get out of this place." He gave his father's shoulder a gentle but firm tug toward the rear door that led to Diagon Alley.

Annie noticed he had never drawn a wand, hadn't participated in the exchange, though his haughty expression plainly demonstrated how he felt about the relative worth of the Weasleys. He clearly agreed with his father's assessment, but was too cowardly to challenge the family, fully assembled as they were.

The father snatched his arm away from his son with a glare, and with a flourish of his voluminous robes, threw back his head and marched out the door. The rest of his family walked quickly after him. The Weasleys remained standing, poised for battle, as they watched them leave.

Percy walked over toward the bar and spoke with Tom. Annie presumed he was apologizing for the scene, probably offering a few galleons for the man's trouble. Ever the placator, Annie thought, then scolded herself. He was only trying to do what was right, after all.

"What was all that, Mummy?" asked Art. Both boys looked at her with curiosity.

"I don't know, exactly," Annie said honestly. "Why don't you take Victoire over to Tom and ask him to give you some more pumpkin juice?" she suggested, handing them several coins. They eagerly agreed, and Annie was grateful they were still young enough to be so easily distracted. She watched them briefly as they took their cousin's hand and dashed over toward the bar.

Ron, Harry and Hermione had just succeeded in marching a still-irate Ginny out the front door onto the muggle street, intending to keep her there until she calmed down. Bill and Fleur were talking quietly but animatedly, their heads together at the end of the table.

Annie returned her gaze to George, who was the only one left standing at this point, besides herself. She noticed small movements in his jaw as he ground his teeth, attempting to dissipate the tension. She reached out and took his hand, and he turned toward her.

"How did he know about you?" he whispered under his breath, his brow furrowed as his mind raced with thought.

For a moment, she wondered if it was a rhetorical question. Was he referring to their marriage? Or her status as a non-magical person? "It's not exactly a secret anymore," she replied, answering both questions at once.

Ever since the war was over, George had never hesitated to introduce her as his wife to anyone they ever met. And frequently, the fact she was a muggle would come up in the introductory conversations. It never bothered her, at any rate. In most cases, people would take it in stride. Many would be genuinely interested. At worst, she sometimes noticed a few wizards had seemed slightly uncomfortable with the fact. She always gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was because they had never had much interaction with non-magical folk. Today was the first instance of anyone in the wizarding world becoming nasty in regard to her heritage.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he said, not really convinced by her argument.

Something she did not understand was bothering him, but this was not the place to pursue it. She would ask him about it later. One question would not wait, however.

"Who was that?" she asked, still reeling from the bizarre confrontation.

"Lucius fucking Malfoy," he muttered, glancing back toward the door his nemesis had left from.

*

Dr. Walsh strolled down the hallway of the ER. He had just been joking around with the nurses in the lounge, sharing stories of their craziest nights on shift. This one promised to be hairier than most, they assured him: a full moon coincided with New Year's Eve. They were bracing themselves for babies and drunks galore tonight.

He paused outside a curtained-off bed and grabbed the appropriate chart. It told him here was a woman claiming to be in labor, probably eager to be the first baby of the new year, he mused. According to the intake papers, she'd only been feeling contractions for a couple of hours at most. He glanced at the clock - 12:50 a.m. She'd likely missed the first baby boat already.

A voice from behind the curtain caught his attention and made him look up. The curtain was parted just enough for him to see a young red-headed man - the father, he presumed - holding the woman's hand while rubbing her lower back. Either the fellow had excellent instincts, or this wasn't his first go. Dr. Walsh looked back down at the chart for a few more moments, searching for any obvious red flags in the medical history.

"Why do you keep doing this? Waiting until the last minute to tell me you're in labor?" he heard the man tease the woman in a warm, relaxed voice.

"Perverse sense of humor, I suppose," the laboring woman answered, sounding tired but also calm.

Walsh was encouraged by their banter, thankful he wouldn't be dealing with frantic new parents, even though the fellow did look awfully young.

"And anyway, I did tell you as soon as it started. It's just going much faster this time...." She stopped talking then - Walsh assumed another contraction had occupied her focus.

He was just finishing up reading the chart, signing all the necessary paperwork to transfer the patient out of the ER and upstairs into Maternity, when he heard something that caused him a great deal of alarm.

"Breathe it out, love," the husband urged. "The nurse said not to push yet."

"IhavetopushIhavetopushIhaveto," she answered, undeterred and determined.

Dr. Walsh threw open the curtain at that moment. In a commanding voice, he addressed the woman. "Mrs. Weasley, DO NOT PUSH!"

The pregnant woman on the gurney looked up at him, startled. Walsh would've recognized those violet eyes anywhere.

"Annie?"

An equally shocked look of recognition met his own. "Andy?"

"And I'm George," added the husband, curious but amused. "I take it you two have met?"

Walsh noticed Annie was panting now as the last of the contraction spent itself. "A long time ago," she explained, nodding and turning away from him to look at her husband once more and smile.

The young man glanced at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Did you go to school together, then?" he asked his wife.

She shook her head, and instantly her husband looked relieved, for some strange reason. Apparently, a positive answer to that question would not have boded well for him, Walsh realized.

Dr. Andy Walsh felt embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior and rapidly collected himself. "May I examine you now, Mrs. Weasley, or would you prefer me to call someone else?"

The couple glanced at each other, clearly amused by their predicament. "We are in a bit of a rush, actually," answered her husband as Annie nodded sheepishly.

The awkwardness of the examination only lasted two seconds. "Good Lord - you're crowning!" Walsh exclaimed as soon as he lifted the sheet, his eyes taking in the top of an infant's head in an instant. There was no time to get Annie out of here and up to the maternity ward. The baby would be born in the lift if he tried.

"Please may I push NOW?" she cried as another contraction gripped her.

"Er - yes, of course," he replied, reaching down to support the head as it rapidly emerged with Annie's efficient work. He called out for a nurse to bring the emergency delivery supplies.

He glanced up to see Annie's husband tenderly supporting her as she curled her body around the baby, eyes closed, face calm but determined, bearing down. Andy could see the fellow's lips were moving against her ear but couldn't hear the words.

"This is not your first, I take it?" he asked after the contraction passed. He had just turned the head and began clearing the baby's mouth.

"Our third, actually," the husband replied with a proud smile, while Annie gasped to catch her breath. "We've got two-year-old twins at home," he continued absentmindedly as his focus returned to his wife.

Andy couldn't have asked for an easier birth. A baby girl was born after two more contractions, just a few minutes after one a.m. Mother and daughter were perfectly healthy and doing well, so he sent his patient up to Maternity as soon as possible to recover, then spent the rest of the night patching up drunken revelers.

Andy Walsh strolled down the hallway of the maternity ward after his shift, too curious to leave without saying a proper hello at the very least. It was midmorning, getting close to noon, and he told himself it would be unprofessional of him not to check that they were still doing well.

To his relief, he saw that Annie was awake as he peeked around the doorway. Annie's husband was dozing in a chair next to the bed. She was holding her new baby in her arms; a broad, tired smile lighting up her face.

"Hello," he said softly, glancing around the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answered genially. She didn't appear to feel any lasting discomfort from the awkwardness of their reunion a few hours previously.

"What did you name her?" Walsh asked politely, unsure of what else to say.

"Molly Meredith. For George's mother, and my Gran," she replied.

"It's very pretty," he said. "And very fitting for a pretty little girl."

After a few moments passed while he paid proper tribute by gazing admiringly at the little infant, he continued. "You never called me," he said teasingly, speaking just above a whisper. "I suppose this is why?" he asked, indicating her husband and child with a wave of his hand.

Annie blushed as she nodded slightly. "It's good to see you again," she offered. "How have you been?"

Andy was surprised by her abashed reaction. "Good. Busy. I've even got a semblance of a life, now that I'm out of school," he replied lightly, testing her memory.

"Did you take up skydiving, then?" she said, giggling quietly.

It pleased him that she remembered their conversation from so long ago. He hadn't really thought of her all that much, but she had made enough of an impression that he had thought of her occasionally through the years, wondering what had happened to her. Especially on nights like last night, on the rare occasion whenever he covered shifts for a mate here at the Ottery hospital. Just idle curiosity, really.

"Not hardly. I did manage to find someone who's willing to put up with doctor's hours, though. We're getting married this summer." He wanted to assure her she was off the hook. He didn't want her to feel awkward, or think he was holding a candle or any other such idiotic notion.

"Congratulations!" she said sincerely. "Jane will be thrilled! She always thought very highly of you," she added kindly. "I'll be sure to tell her when I see her."

"I knew you were only sixteen, you know. Your medical chart now proves it," he continued in a joking manner, trying to let her know there were no hard feelings. It was years ago now, and after all, they had only spent a few hours together that night. He had never really expected her to call.

"Guilty as charged," she admitted with a giggle.

"You still look it, by the way," he added. It was true: she'd hardly changed a fraction since he had met her that night of her birthday. Annie looked far too young to have three children already....

"Yes, she does," a voice spoke softly from beside them.

Andy turned to see Annie's husband gazing calmly at them both.

"Good morning, George," she said softly, her voice filled with confidence and adoration. "You remember Dr. Walsh, from a few hours ago, don't you?"

"I do," he said, rising and offering to shake Andy's hand. "Thank you for delivering our daughter," he added sincerely. After a moment's pause, he continued. "And you remember my wife from...?" he asked expectantly.

Andy glanced at Annie, silently asking her what to do.

Annie giggled in response. "Go ahead and tell him, Andy," she said. "He revels in anything that embarrasses me."

"I was a party to sneaking this one into a bar on her sixteenth birthday," he confessed with a smile, nodding toward her, adding the emphasis on her age for her husband's sake.

"Why am I not surprised? My wife has quite a rap sheet when it comes to juvenile criminal exploits," George replied with a light-hearted laugh.

"I was not the only criminal that night! Jane was responsible for providing me with the means to get in," she added defensively.

"So I have Jane to blame for corrupting you?" he teased in a voice that clearly enjoyed the irony of the statement.

"You know the blame for that falls squarely on your own shoulders, git," she retorted.

Andy smiled at the exchange. Annie had clearly found an excellent match for herself. He decided it might be safe to add a bit of fuel to the fire. "You should've seen the pile of phone numbers your then-underage wife collected that night."

"Oh, really?" George replied in mockingly disturbed voice, turning to look at Annie. "And did you ever contact any of these gentlemen with such questionable morals?"

"Not a one of them," Andy answered for her with a wink. "I confiscated every number."

Annie huffed at his historical revision of the facts.

"Thank goodness someone was behaving responsibly that night," laughed George.

"Like you'd know responsible behavior if it bit you in the ass," said Annie sassily.

"Please, dear. I'll thank you to watch your language in front of the baby," he teased. "Or are you trying to corrupt her as well?"

"Troll," she muttered, smiling at him.

The baby in her arms began to fuss a bit, probably ready to nurse. Andy took that as his cue to leave.

"It was nice to meet you, George," he said, offering his hand to shake once more. "And congratulations," he added.

"Thank you, Dr. Walsh, for taking such good care of them," George replied warmly.

"Good to see you again, Annie," Andy said as he moved toward the door.

"Take care, Andy."

*

Annie woke as the sun began to peek over the hill behind her house. She gazed out the window for a few minutes, past the still-sleeping form of her husband, as the rosy light crept across the sky. She listened as the symphony of birds waking up in the forest beyond the garden made a slow, gradual crescendo. Soon her daughter's coos and gurgles added themselves to the morning's song.

George must have heard them, too. He rolled onto his stomach and stretched. "Morning," he mumbled through a yawn.

Annie kissed him, then kicked off the sheet and pushed herself up and out of bed as her husband did the same. George shuffled into the bathroom while Annie headed into the nursery.

Happy. Joyous. Merrie. They were all synonyms; the very definition of her baby daughter. Little Molly Meredith had arrived on the heels of the millennium, and as far as Annie could tell, life was nothing but one big, very entertaining party for her. She had begun smiling at two weeks of age and had never stopped. A sweet baby grin, made all the more adorable by the two tiny pearls of teeth peeking out from her lower gum, accompanied by squeals and kicks of excitement greeted Annie when she entered the nursery.

Annie heard the water turn on in the shower as she sat with her daughter in the rocking chair. She ran her fingers through Merrie's wispy auburn curls as soft as down, counted for the thousandth time each freckle on her cheek as her daughter nursed contentedly. Annie murmured sweet nothings to the baby, keeping a running commentary of their plans for the day, her voice sounding excited regardless of how utterly mundane they were. Merrie popped herself off every few minutes or so to offer her mother a smile or giggle of encouragement.

By the time Merrie was finished, Annie could hear noises coming from the room next door, sounding suspiciously like bedsprings being bounced upon. She was startled to hear a loud thud, then relieved to hear to identical giggles in stereo. As long as no one was hurt, it was probably better if she didn't know what they were doing....

"All right, you monkeys. Time to get the morning started," she heard their father command as he entered their bedroom, now showered and dressed himself.

George had nearly always taken on the duty of waking and dressing the children, giving Annie a chance to shower and prepare for the day. Annie heard the boys respond by howling and hooting like chimpanzees, and more thumping-jumping sounds. She put Merrie back in her crib with a kiss and a toy to wait for her father.

Annie took a quick shower and dressed for the warm summer day in jeans and a t-shirt that happened to advertise the new Wheezes shop in Hogsmeade, which had opened the previous spring. She skipped downstairs to get breakfast ready for her family, with the twins hard on her heels. From upstairs, Annie could hear Merrie erupt with hysterical giggles as her father noisily pretended to gobble her tummy.

"Please can we have pancakes today?" begged Art.

Fred bounced beside him; Annie thought she could detect him nodding in agreement, but it might have just been the exuberant jumping.

It pained Annie to say no to him, but Art asked for pancakes every day. "How about tomorrow? I've got berries and yogurt and granola today for breakfast sundaes."

"Okay," Art sighed disappointedly.

Annie tousled his hair and turned away from her son to put the kettle on. Then she opened the cabinet door that housed her dishes and began pulling out what was needed for breakfast.

She had an impressive collection of antique mechanical kitchen gadgets, amassed over the last few years, all in working order and used frequently. Her favorite, as well as her children's, was the hand-cranked apple peeler, followed closely by her Gran's old cowbell-shaped grater.

In addition, she had three muggle appliances in her house: a stove, refrigerator, and clothes washer. They weren't the only things that ran on electricity in her home, but they were the only ones that remained permanently plugged in - for instance, the television in her bedroom was only plugged in while it was being watched. So far, they had not yet had a power surge strong enough to damage the major appliances beyond repair - though they'd run through several lamps and a small radio - but Annie predicted it would only be a matter of time, considering the twins.

Annie had wondered what it would be like to live without electricity, back when she and George were dating and contemplating their future together. She remembered being worried she would struggle to do without it. Annie laughed now at how little she missed blenders, vacuums, and coffeemakers. She imagined her life might be very much what it was like for her grandmother as a child, except for being surrounded by people performing magic, of course.

Annie placed dishes, utensils, and food on the table as George carried Merrie down the stairs. She helped the boys assemble their messy, but for the most part healthy breakfasts, then began spooning yogurt and baby cereal into Merrie's ever-smiling mouth. George attended the whistling kettle on the stove and began to make coffee in the press pot.

They chatted casually over the noise of the children about the day to come. Today, George was due to visit the little factory building that housed his manufacturing floor as well as handled all the mail order business, reviewing new orders and observing the machines he had invented last summer to mass produce the Skiving Snackbox components. He never failed to find something to tinker with or improve upon each time.

"How about you?" he asked, sipping some coffee.

"Same old. Your mum is coming over for a magic lesson this morning, so the boys will be thrilled."

George gave her a crooked, half-smile. Part of him was enormously pleased and proud of his precocious twin sons, and their burgeoning magical gifts. But another, only slightly smaller part was clearly nervous about leaving his muggle wife alone all day with so much uncontrolled magical ability. The possibilities for accidents, dangerous ones even, were enough to make him uncomfortable. He knew Annie suspected this was why Molly spent so much time at Mole Hill during the weekdays, per her husband's "secret" request. The entire family focused their efforts on teaching the twins the necessity of control.

Their thoughts were interrupted by green flames flaring in the fireplace.

"Teddy!" cried the twins in unison as they leaped off their chairs and dashed toward the living room to greet their best friend.

"Morning, Andromeda," George called out as Annie began clearing the table.

"Morning, George," the older lady answered.

"Cup of coffee?" offered Annie.

She had quickly grown to like the kind, sad woman who brought Teddy to her house each day. Her story was so tragic: losing her daughter, son-in-law and husband, all within such a short period. But then again, whose wasn't? One was hard-pressed these days to find anyone who hadn't lost at least one loved one during the Second War.

"Not today, Annie. I want to get an early start, so I can knock off a bit early this afternoon."

"Another time, then," Annie said, smiling as she watched Teddy say goodbye to his grandmother.

Little Teddy Lupin held a special place in Annie's heart, not just because he was her sons' favorite playmate. She knew what it was like to grow up without parents; what it was like to be raised by a doting grandmother. She was finding herself becoming rather attached to the funny, sweet little fellow who looked a little different from moment to moment.

"I'd better be going as well," George said as Andromeda Tonks stepped into the fireplace and vanished. He squatted down next to Merrie's high chair and tickled her cheek with his nose. She rewarded him by grabbing hold of his ear and bestowing a slobbery, yogurt-sticky wet kiss on his nose, which he thanked her for before he stood and wiped the mess off his face.

Annie pulled Merrie out of the seat and followed her husband to the fireplace.

"Be good and listen to your mum, boys," he shouted at the twins as they were sprinting around the furniture, chasing after Teddy, who had a miniature elephant's trunk for a nose at the moment.

They neither paused in their game nor acknowledged their father as they continued playing.

Annie giggled as she set Merrie down in the playpen. The little girl laughed and clapped her hands, entertained by the older boys' antics.

"I'll see you later," George said as he laced his arms around Annie.

"I'll be here. Can't speak for the house, though," she teased, doing the same.

"At least you listen to me," he laughed as the boys tore upstairs, making a thunderous amount of noise as they did so.

"Hmm?"

He smirked. "Oh, you're a riot."

"Have a good day," she giggled and kissed him goodbye.

The fireplace flared again mid-kiss, and a familiar voice called out a familiar greeting. "Get a room, you two," teased Lee, like always, as he stepped out of the fire with his eight-month-old daughter in his arms.

"It's my damn house, git!" cried George in response, like always.

"Good morning, Lee," Annie smiled as he handed his daughter off to her.

Roxanne Jordan was a beautiful, chubby, happy baby, with dark brown skin, eyes and hair. It pleased Annie that the baby girls appeared to be as good friends as their mothers and fathers were.

"Hello, Annie," he replied. He tickled under Roxy's chin with his finger, then gave her nose a light tap. "And goodbye to the prettiest little girl in the world," he cooed, planting a kiss on his smiling daughter's forehead.

George harrumphed. "One of the prettiest little girls in the world," he corrected his friend good-naturedly.

"Yes, yes; Merrie is pretty, too," sighed Lee, winking conspiratorially at his own daughter. He handed Annie a small satchel containing Roxy's bottles and diapers for the day.

"After you," George said, holding out the canister filled with Floo powder for his best mate, Lee. The two men left, one after the other, to their separate destinations.

Lee was off to work at the WWN - Wizarding Wireless Network - as a radio announcer. He had gotten the job there immediately after the war, once the network bigwigs were all imprisoned for supporting and/or colluding with Voldemort's regime. His wife Angelina currently worked with the Ministry in the Magical Transportation Department. She had discovered during the war that she had a talent for bewitching portkeys, a skill that had served the Order well. Annie reckoned her friend was something akin to a muggle travel agent now, enchanting spoons and tin cans to transport wizards all over the globe for business or pleasure.

Annie set Roxy down in the playpen next to Merrie, and the babies excitedly greeted each other with screeches and drool-bubbles. Once the boys were safely outdoors with Molly, she would let them loose to crawl around on the floor. Meanwhile, she started a load of diapers in the washing machine and began to make a grocery list.

Tomorrow, on Saturday, she would drive into the preferred anonymity of Exeter - for she avoided Ottery except in emergencies - to do the marketing. George would give her the entire morning for it, and she often spent an hour or so online at the library, catching up with muggle culture. She would read up on the news of the world she used to live in, keep in touch with Jane via a weekly email update, and search the web for interesting tidbits regarding music or movies that she and George might enjoy on a rare night out.

The boys had finally tired of chasing each other around at breakneck speed and flopped down on the sofa together, catching their breath.

"When is Vicky coming back?" asked Teddy.

"She's at home with her mummy and baby sister, love," Annie explained. "She'll be back at the end of the summer, I expect."

Teddy nodded, accepting her explanation, having nothing further to add himself.

The twins' cousin Victoire, just turned two-years-old, had been missing from Annie's house for more than a month now. Fleur had just delivered her youngest, another daughter named Dominique, and was keeping her elder daughter at home while on temporary leave from the bank. Annie had been rather shocked that goblins at Gringotts would subscribe to such an enlightened notion as maternity leave, but there you have it.

She was slightly surprised that the girl's absence was even noted by any of the boys. Victoire had always been such a quiet, aloof child. Delicate, fair and stunningly beautiful, she seemed to have difficulty at times finding ways to interact socially with the other children. Sometimes she would tag along after the boys, but never said much. Very rarely would she spend time with the infants. Most often she would play quietly by herself, seeming happiest when coloring or painting. Already her niece was a brooding artist, Annie reckoned.

The summer day was fine, and every door and window of the house had been thrown wide open by mid-morning. The baby girls were contented with dozing in a playpen set in the shade of a small umbrella while Annie hung out the wash on the line and did a bit of gardening. She could hear Molly and the boys off in the distance, playing on a tire swing suspended from an enormous oak tree on the perimeter of the forest.

She planted another round of lettuce, spinach, and chives, just like Gran had taught her, in order to have a steady supply throughout the summer. She checked on the strawberries and discovered they'd be ready soon for jam. George would be pleased by that news, she mused - it was one of his favorites.

The morning passed as lazy summer days do. She brought the girls inside once they woke from their morning nap and played on the floor with them, letting them crawl around after each other. She was playing hide-the-toy-under-a-burp-cloth when Molly brought the boys back into the house after their magic lesson for lunch. Annie let the boys have a picnic of sandwiches outside with their Granny before she left to go home to the Burrow.

The afternoon was growing quite warm, and all the children retreated into the cool of the house and lay down for a nap. Annie worked for a bit around the house; doing dishes, some prep work for their afternoon snacks and supper, folding the laundry. Once all the normal, non-magical domestic chores were done, it was time for a few quick jobs in "Daddy's dungeon," as it had been christened by the twins.

She placed her hand against a small, mirrored panel affixed to the door behind the fireplace that led down to George's workshop. Both she and George had agreed upon the necessity of preventing the children from straying down there at all costs. He had been inspired by a James Bond movie to enchant a special locking mechanism that would recognize Annie's hand - but no one else's - and permit her to bypass the magical spell otherwise necessary to open it. She crept silently down the stairs, flashlight in hand.

George's workshop was almost completely underground. Just below the thick, bunker-like concrete ceiling (necessary to shield the rest of the house from all the magic performed here) were three small windows that were just above ground level, allowing light in, and oftentimes, billowing smoke from a spell or potion gone awry to escape. Even though she came down here at least once a day, she still marveled at the magic surrounding her in this place.

Cauldrons and scales littered one section of countertop, above which hung a glass-doored cabinet containing jars and vials of various magical ingredients. Another area nearby held a disorderly collection of recycled coffee cans and plastic yogurt cups, put to use now holding various bits and pieces of metal, wood and glass George used for his inventions. Several notebooks lay open on a desk with quills in various states of brokenness - George was the sort of person (if he had been a muggle, that is) who would continue to use a pencil until it had no eraser and was only two inches long.

On the desk was a note, addressed to her.

Igor - I already watered the plants today. Love, Dr. F.

Annie giggled. She had teased him once that he was like Dr. Frankenstein, laboring away down here in his secret laboratory on monstrous things that were an affront to nature. He had had no clue, of course, what she was talking about until she had rented the movie. George had been highly entertained by the comical story, and persisted ever after in calling her his very own Igor.

Since he had already taken care of one of her daily tasks, the only thing left to her now was to water and feed the breeding pairs of pygmy puffskeins. She filled the little food dishes with the table scraps (Who needed a disposal - or tissues, for that matter - when you had puffskeins? she mused) and they began to hum pleasantly as their long tongues snaked out from unseen orifices.

Back upstairs, she figured it was pointless to do much straightening up of toys, since the boys still had hours of playing to do yet, and decided to save the task for after supper. Instead, she sat down on the sofa for a few minutes, sipping a cup of tea and gazing out the window at the meadow. The busy-ness of the day conspired with the warmth of the weather to cause a sinking spell. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was just for a moment....

Annie heard a familiar chuckle in her ear.

Aren't you the good little wife? Did you always aspire to live in the 1800s?

"Shut up, Fred. I'm very happy, thank you very much," she whispered back, screwing her eyes shut. She knew from experience that he would leave if she opened them. She also knew, with similar confidence, that there was nothing to see.

I can tell, and that's what slays me! All those times you used to argue with me, calling me sexist... and here you sit, the furthest thing from liberated I can see. You were just pretending to be a modern girl, all those years....

"You're just jealous," she said softly, smiling. It was so good to hear his voice once more.

Of you!? D'you think I'd be sitting here, surrounded by a litter of sniveling, snotty brats all day long, if I were you?

"If you had half a brain, yes. How is this any different from heaven?" she argued. She heard him snort in response, and it nearly made her laugh out loud.

Nice try, git. You'll just have to wait and see.... I'm not telling you.

Annie heard another sound, from her own dimension this time. Reality was intruding once more. "That's little Fred, starting to wake up," she mumbled, recognizing the signature bounce of little feet. She knew her time with Fred's ghost, or whatever it was she was communing with at the moment, was short now.

I suppose you think I'm touched by that - how you named your son after his glorious uncle?

"We miss you. It still wrecks him, you know - that you're gone and he's here," she said. It was true - survivor's guilt: that's what it was called. Just one of the aspects of hurt George was still struggling with. Not that George wished he had been the one to die - just that he would have preferred for Fred to have lived.

I know. I miss you, too. And you're right.... I am jealous... and touched.

"Don't go!" she begged, but it was too late. She could already hear his voice was fading. She felt the barest, imaginary pressure of a kiss on her forehead.

Catch you later, idiot....

Annie sighed and opened her eyes. It wasn't the first time, and she confessed to herself that she hoped it wouldn't be the last. It happened every once in a while, when she was alone, and quiet, and drowsy. Her maternal-hormone-soaked, over-worked brain would misfire, causing her imagination to conjure up her lost friend. Fred would come to her in her mind, for a minute at most, and typically launch into a volley of teasing insults - why couldn't he share any profound universal wisdom or investment tips? She never told George about it, for what purpose would it serve him to know his wife was cracking up, she reckoned.

Little Fred clambered silently up onto the sofa with her, placing a book in her lap.

"Would you like to read Pooh with me?" she asked tenderly.

Fred nodded, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and leaned against her. While Annie read the book, the other two boys woke up and made their way downstairs to join them. The three little children all snuggled up to her as she told the story of the imaginary stuffed-animal toys come to life.

The rest of the day played out like a script. Andromeda and Angelina both arrived late in the afternoon to collect their children. George came home soon after. Annie made supper. Her little family played together in the late summer twilight outside in the garden, then George took the kids upstairs and plopped them in the tub. They operated on the theory that by bathing them at night, their bodies would stay clean for a stretch of nearly twelve hours; an impossible feat otherwise. Afterward, Annie nursed Merrie to sleep while George read bedtime stories to the boys.

Some time later, George and Annie sat outside together in the dark, watching fireflies and fairies blinking across the meadow, talking quietly about the day just finished. Annie shared tales of funny things the boys did or said, of Merrie's latest developmental accomplishment. George told her about his plans for a new product he was developing: texting parchment, inspired by a fax machine he saw one day recently at the pediatrician's office.

"What should we get for Ginny and Harry? The wedding's only two weeks away now," asked Annie.

"How about a gross of condoms?" joked George.

"Could you be serious for a moment?" she laughed.

"What newlywed couple wouldn't think that a dead useful gift?" he countered.

"Are you saying you regret the circumstances of your own sons' conception?" she teased him. They had only been married for a few weeks before she had become pregnant with the twins, after all.

"Perish the thought!" he chuckled. "Nothing could be further from the truth!" He reached out for her hand and laced their fingers together.

"Not to mention such a gift is tantamount to acknowledging, if not outright condoning, the fact that the great and heroic Harry Potter will be imminently deflowering your precious baby sister," she argued.

"That's quite enough of that," he warned her, his tone suddenly shifting from playful to irritated.

"Assuming he hasn't done the deed already, of course..." she needled him.

"I'm warning you to shut up now," he said, standing up, stepping next to her chair and looming threateningly over her.

"Which is a pretty asinine assumption," she couldn't resist adding, knowing Ginny as well as she did. She couldn't see George's face in the dark, but figured she could accurately predict it was scowling at her.

"Now you've done it," he said. Spinning around, he sat rudely on top of her, squashing her into the seat.

"Are you saying I was wrong to succumb to your very persistent charms, back then?" she said, finding it hard to breathe as he crushed her into the wooden slats by leaning back.

"Not at all. No one blames you for being unable to say no to this," he teased, indicating himself. "Least of all me."

"So it was all right for me to relinquish my virginity before marriage, but not for Ginny?" she gasped, but refused to cry uncle.

"She's my sister, moron," he explained. He wiggled himself a bit, grinding her backside into the chair, to punish her for overtly mentioning the subject of Ginny's sex life in his presence.

Annie hoped the poor chair wouldn't bust into pieces with the two of them in it. "Mine as well," she pointed out.

"We knew we were going to be together forever, anyway," he rationalized.

"And how many years have Ginny and Harry been dating exclusively now?" she asked, knowing the answer was nearly as long as she and George had been together.

"It's a completely different situation," he protested.

"I suppose you're just lucky I didn't have a big brother threatening to avenge the loss of my innocence."

"Your innocence?" he snorted. "I think it was rather the other way around, don't you?" George grunted in pain from the pinch that landed on his waist, then grabbed both her hands to prevent further retaliation on her part.

They sat in silence, at an impasse, for a whole minute.

"So we'll get them the same thing we got for Ron and Hermione?" Annie asked. Her legs were beginning to go numb.

"A set of never-boil-over pots and pans sounds perfect," George nodded as he stood up once more. "I'll pick them up at Cauldrons & More after work one day next week. Time for bed?" he asked.

"Just give me a minute," she replied, stalling until the feeling returned in her legs.

Impatiently, George took her hands and hauled her up to a standing position. Annie's left leg buckled as she tried to put a bit of weight on it, due to the fact no blood had entered or left it for the last five minutes. He caught her before she hit the ground, understanding immediately what was going on, laughing and shaking his head.

"You are more stubborn than a mule," he teased her.

"Yeah, well, you are an ass," she teased back.

"Takes one to know one," he argued, lifting her up and carrying her toward the house.

"I happen to know you are very enamored with my ass," she shot back. "And have been for ages."

"It's your best feature, love," he replied as they crossed the threshold. "Followed closely by your...."

Annie clamped her hand over his mouth as he mumbled something lewd. "I suppose you think sweet talk like that might get you laid tonight," she whispered as he quietly closed and locked the doors and windows with a silent command.

"Unless you think you've got the moral fiber to say no," he taunted her.

"Probably not," she admitted, giggling as he kissed her.