George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 42: Fire and Ice

2002

"What are you so keyed up about?" George asked Annie. They were seated at the dining table inside the tent he had just pitched, finishing up the sandwiches they had made for lunch. Annie was excitedly bouncing her leg while throwing back the last of a bottle of ale.

"I'm going for a swim," she replied as she hurriedly stood up from the bench and headed into the bedroom.

Not if I can help it, he thought to himself. He predicted it might not be easy to distract her... she was maniacal about beaches, after all. The ocean was like a drug for her; he knew it well. And now that they were physically a mere twenty feet away from one of the most beautiful seasides they had ever seen, she would understandably be jonesing for it.

George stood slowly after he finished his own beer a minute later and followed her into the bedroom. He parted the dividing curtain just in time to see Annie tying the last knot of her swimsuit at her right hip. His eyes took in the little red Cymru dragon at her neck, now partially obscured by a delicate string bow, then let them drift down to the larger tattoo at the small of her back peeking above the suit, the sight of which never failed to make him smile. He felt a familiar rush of blood in response to her nearly-nude silhouette. It was warm inside the closed tent and he took off his shirt.

"Are you coming with me?" she asked him distractedly. She was bent over and rummaging through her backpack.

"What are you looking for?" he asked her, not quite ready to own up to his true motivation for getting undressed. It would have only taken him a second to summon it for her, but she never asked him to do so. Ever. She was always determined to do everything herself, no matter how inefficient or unnecessary the effort was.

She held up the bottle of sunscreen she had just located as an answer. They both smiled at the private joke, remembering that silly moment at the beach when they were sixteen. What an idiot he had been back then, he thought with wry amusement.

Annie began to slather the stuff on her arms, turning just slightly toward him. George caught a glimpse of another tattoo - her most recent addition; the one almost no one else knew about or ever noticed, even though she'd had it now for several years. On the inside of her left wrist was a tiny fox prancing above a string of letters: I.L.M.F.C.W.R.I.P.

In Loving Memory, Frederick Cyrus Weasley, Rest In Peace.

He had the same string of letters wrapped around his upper right arm, just below a sketch of the ruined castle that had claimed his twin brother's life. Above the broken battlements were the words "NEVER FORGET." George was not the only male his age he knew with this memorial permanently etched into his flesh; every one of his brothers and the majority of his friends had an almost identical tattoo - some dedicated to Fred, some to other fallen heroes - but all gotten the summer after the memorial service. His had been the original, though.

He was only distracted from his purpose for a moment by the thought of his brother, however, as Annie interrupted his thoughts.

"Can I trust you this time?" she asked, tossing him the bottle and holding out her arms horizontally, facing away from him.

"You've never met anyone more trustworthy than me," he said, lobbing her a chance to spar with him. He saw a sly smile spread across her face as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Too easy," she giggled.

He began to spread lotion across her back, then bent to kiss her neck. It was his go-to spot; never failing to arouse her.

"Focus, love," she encouraged him unnecessarily.

Although she had a different intention, the sentiment was still remarkably appropriate for his ulterior motive. "These are in the way," he said softly, gently tugging on the strings holding her swimsuit in place.

"Trustworthy, eh?" she scolded him weakly, but offering no resistance as her bikini top fell to the floor.

His plan was working.

"Just trying to be thorough," he pressed. "You don't want a sunburn now, do you?" His hands were running over her hips, stroking her stomach. He felt her inhale deeply and arch her back slightly as he pulled her closer, her body now resting against his.

"George... I want to swim," she protested as he untied the remaining knots at her hips.

Her stern tone belied the truth her body confessed. She wanted him, not water - as much as he did her at the moment - and he knew it.

"You just ate.... You should wait at least an hour," he argued superfluously, nuzzling her ear.

Annie turned to face him. She began to untie the drawstring of his swim trunks. "That's an old wives' tale," she said, kissing the base of his throat.

"Better safe than sorry, though," he added.

He lifted her up as they kissed, and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Briefly, he considered taking her someplace else a bit more adventurous while she was so conveniently portable.... The table? The hammock? But then again, they were standing next to a perfectly comfortable bed. They had four more days to take advantage of every other surface of the tent.

He laid her down on the bed, feeling her fingers curl into his hair. He stared into the exotic violet-ness of her eyes. He loved to see that look on her face: the paradoxical expression of relaxed tension, of contented yearning, the impatient anticipation of an ending she was in no hurry to reach. She bit her lip and closed her eyes.

"No one will hear you," he said, reassuring her. He had now developed the habit of including a silencing spell along with all the usual repelling charms he cast whenever he erected the tent now. That was one of his favorite parts, after all; listening to her enjoyment.

Annie sighed softly and smiled. Her eyes looked into his as her hips began to move in complement to him.

Now it was his turn to sigh.

George woke up a couple of hours later when he felt Annie sneak out of his arms and crawl out of bed. "Come back," he muttered sleepily.

She quickly re-dressed into her swimsuit as he watched. "George, some of the world's best surfing is right outside this door, and I, for one, am not going to miss it entirely by spending a lazy day in bed. Plenty of time for sleeping tonight," she argued scoldingly.

"Think so, do you?" he laughed wickedly. She was right however; he could spare time enough to enjoy the delights of this tropical island during the day. He would save further pursuit of the primary goal of this trip for the evening hours.

"It's no use trying to avoid destiny," he called after her anyway as she made her way out of the tent to the beach.

He felt utterly exhausted, and groggy, still struggling with the time difference between Hawaii and Britain. He lay in bed for a few minutes more, his body unwilling to put forth the effort to move just yet, contemplating the strange string of events that had brought them here.

George had been intrigued by a letter he had received two months ago from a farmer on Niihau, suggesting the possibility of opening up trade in magical ingredients between the two of them. George was always interested in the sort of thing this fellow happened to be offering: a new and more powerful sort of explosive. And when Mr. Nui invited him to come see a demonstration in person, a plan began to hatch in his mind: perhaps he could repeat a bit of personal history on another island holiday.

It had been nearly two years since he and Annie had been able to get away; two years since the heavenly vacation on Tenerife, when Merrie had been conceived. Their lives had been ridiculously busy in the intervening time since - his time had been absorbed in the Wheezes business, and Annie had been raising their three children, as well as nearly everyone else's.

He had taken his wife's suggestion about automation to heart and spent one whole summer inventing several machines that would mass-produce the sweets for the Skiving Snackboxes. And once all the repairs were complete and Hogwarts had opened again for students, it made no sense at all not to expand into Hogsmeade. George now employed more than a dozen people between the two shops and a separate production facility.

Meanwhile, Annie had come to the rescue of their friends and family by coordinating child care for the apparent baby boom that was following the end of the war. It had started when she and George's mother began watching little Teddy Lupin soon after the twins had turned one, so his grandmother Andromeda Tonks could work a few days a week at her Ministry job. Teddy had been the perfect playmate for the twins, being six months older, and they remained thick as thieves to this day.

Then Fleur had asked Annie if she would mind watching Victoire as well, thereby permitting her to go back to work. Annie was pregnant herself by then with Merrie, but would never say no to a request from a Weasley in need. Eventually, the crowd of children spending the day in George's house numbered seven, and the rambunctious herd had begun to take a toll on his furniture. Last fall he offered to build Annie another outbuilding, a rumpus-room of sorts, to house the growing pack of Weasley, Lupin, and Jordan offspring spending the days with her.

She was brilliant at it, of course. Annie was a natural mother, falling easily into the warm, nurturing role. Every one of the children lit up in her presence. She was always willing to play any game they wanted; read another story for the tenth time; kiss away any hurt; cuddle for any reason at all. So wonderful at it, in fact, that they now both agreed it was time for another.

George smiled and put his hands behind his head in contentment, watching shadows cast by palm fronds danced on the ceiling of the tent. He could have kissed that little old woman this morning for mentioning it. He would have to remember to send her something special, to thank her.

Mr. Nui, the farmer from Niihau, had invited them to stay last night in his farmhouse, following the impressive demonstration of the explosive properties of the local frogs he raised. After they had agreed to terms, and feasted on an enormous and exotic celebratory dinner, he and Annie had collapsed exhausted on the sofa bed, for they had been awake for twenty-six hours straight at that point. The lanai where they slept had been lit with nothing but starlight - George had carefully scheduled their visit to coincide with the approaching new moon.

And then the lucky lightning bolt had hit this morning, after a breakfast of eggs and rectangular slabs of tinned meat. Mr. Nui's mother had taken Annie's hand and began speaking to her in the lilting Hawaiian tongue, while Mr. Nui had translated for his mother.

"My mother calls you maka nani, which means 'beautiful eyes,' Mrs. Weasley," the genial man had said.

George had been entertained as Annie had blushed beautifully at the compliment.

The old woman had spoken again, followed by her son's translation. "She says that your husband, lulua'ina, which means 'freckles,' loves you very much. You are a lucky woman."

George had been terribly pleased when Annie had nodded in agreement. "Please tell your mother thank you for me," she had said.

"We say mahalo," Mr. Nui had explained.

"Mahalo," Annie had repeated, smiling at the old crone who was patting her hand as she held it and continued to chatter.

Mr. Nui had then begun to smile sheepishly. "I hope you are not offended by this, Mrs. Weasley, but my mother says you will leave Kauai with child," he had explained, avoiding eye contact with either George or his wife. "My mother is a very gifted seer, you see," he had added.

"Your mother is very talented, indeed, Mr. Nui! No doubt about it," George had exclaimed, smiling at Annie's astonished face. He had shaken the farmer's hand enthusiastically, patting him on the back, then turned to the fellow's ancient mother.

"Mahalo very much, Mrs. Nui!" he had cried, winking at the smiling old witch, who was now cackling in amusement at the two of them.

On the boat trip between the two islands, while Mr. Nui was occupied at the helm, Annie had turned to him. "Did you put her up to it?" she had asked, smiling suspiciously at him.

"How could you suggest such a thing?" George had replied, affecting innocence and indignation.

"Track record, perhaps?"

"I honestly swear I did not." He had then smiled and kissed her. "However, now that you bring it up, Miss Maka Nani...?" He waited, holding his breath, to gauge her response.

"How can I refuse?" she had answered, gazing out over the ocean. "My husband loves me very much, and I'm a lucky woman, you see," she had explained with a teasing smile, throwing the old witch's words back at him.

"Then it would seem as though we have a date with destiny, love. How convenient that we happen to be in the right place at the right time," he had said, barely containing his elation, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her palm.

"Expedient, indeed. Suspiciously so, in fact," she had replied with a broad grin.

Just then, Mr. Nui had called out for them to look out over to starboard. Two whales were visible off in the near distance, spectacularly leaping out of the water.

They had waved goodbye to Mr. Nui in the harbor, promising to be in touch soon with the first shipment of unicorn tail hair in exchange for the exploding frog powder. George had then rented one of those ridiculously overloaded American sports cars, almost lewd in its powerful grace, to transport them about the island of Kauai. He had even let Annie drive it first. As she flew down the road that followed the mountainous shoreline, throwing the snarling engine into ever higher gears, she had smiled slyly.

"I know what you're doing... and it's working," she had said.

"Good," he had replied.

He knew being in control of the race car would get her adrenaline pumping. Plus he had been counting on the fact that she had even more of a leaden foot than he did, and would get them to the day's destination that much sooner. He had aided her as much as he could, magically convincing any slower moving traffic ahead of them of a sudden need to pull over.

The beach at the end of the road was divinely beautiful. Nestled at the foot of a towering volcanic wall, the crystal clear azure water met silky soft sand. And here he lay, having just made love to his beautiful wife, with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in his ears. He sighed deeply, contentedly, and contemplated following her to the beach.

They spent the first night on the idyllic beach, magically hidden in plain view from the muggle crowds surrounding them. The next night, they camped at the end of a long, muddy, strenuous trail that had led them through the mountainous rainforest. The sight of the magnificent waterfall had been worth the trek, they agreed, as they washed the mud and grime off of each other in the shower that evening. The next morning, they hiked for miles back the way they had come, then drove to an enchanting bay nearby, pitching their tent once again on the beach and surfing until the sun set. Every night as a gentle rain would fall, and again in the morning before the sun had a chance to break through the clouds, George would make love to Annie. He was a man on a mission, on a date with destiny, after all.

The final day they spent exploring the area, each choosing a tourist activity. Annie wanted him to ride a zipline through a nearby canyon with her in the morning, and George bought tickets for a helicopter tour during the afternoon. That evening, they strolled through a few stores in a tiny village near the campsite, collecting presents for their family and souvenirs for themselves.

"Is it me?" George held up a bright turquoise shirt that had caught his eye.

"You are colorblind, aren't you?" Annie replied.

"You should get one as well. We'll match," he jokingly suggested.

"No, thank you," she teased. "You are more than capable of embarrassing the family on your own; no need to drag me down with you."

He looked at the collection of toys and shells in her basket, all intended for their children. "Aren't you getting anything for yourself?" he asked.

"I have a feeling I already have something to remember this trip by," she whispered, looking at him pointedly.

"Of course you do. That's fate. But I'm talking about a souvenir," he teased her, understanding exactly what she was referring to and fervently hoping she was right.

"The snaps will be enough for me. And the memories," she said with a dreamy smile. She had taken rolls and rolls of film - he had only managed to take maybe a dozen photographs himself, she had been so possessive of the camera.

George smirked at her response. "I'm getting you a shirt," he said decisively.

"Don't waste your hard-earned money," she argued. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing."

"Then do something useful and go get us some ice cream across the street," he directed her, taking the basket from her. He needed a few minutes alone to remedy the situation, since she was being so uncooperative.

"Only if you promise not to buy those god-awful shirts."

"I promise not to get two," he assured her.

Back at the tent later that evening, as they swung back and forth in the hammock and ocean breezes fluttered her curls, George handed Annie a small box. She opened it slowly: inside were two small, sparkling green stones.

"Those are made in the volcanoes here," he said, sharing the information the salesperson had explained to him.

Annie looked directly at him as she expertly placed the earrings into her earlobes. "They're beautiful," she said, stretching up to kiss him. "Thank you... for all of this," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

They lay in the hammock for another hour, kissing and watching the approach of the evening's rain storm as it made its way toward the island. A tiny fingernail sliver of a newborn moon hung on the western horizon, almost ready to plunge into the ocean. Tomorrow they would pack up their things and be magically transported via portkey back to their home in Devon. And as much as he missed his daughter and twin sons, he was in no great hurry for this night to end. Tonight he would complete his mission, making love to his wife at least once more in the warm tropical darkness.

*

George's temper was set to slow burn. He hadn't quite reached fully outraged... yet. But his companions in the small room recognized the set of his jaw, the look in his eyes, and gave him as wide a berth as possible. They knew he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

The whole thing was monumentally stupid. He had never wanted to be here in the first place. Granted, only one of his brothers actually did, but still it rankled him more than any of the rest of them, he reckoned. It wasn't until both his mother and wife had joined forces against him - "For the sake of peace in the family," they said - that he grudgingly agreed to participate in this overblown spectacle of a wedding ceremony.

Audrey was a decent enough person, George knew, but her priorities were seriously out of balance, in his opinion. This ridiculous wedding had been in the planning stages for well over a year, and promised to be as pretentious and pompous as possible, as befitting the illustrious Cavendish family's social status.

Of course Percy would have chosen his bride from one of the most snobbish, obnoxious families in wizarding Britain. So elitist even Hogwarts wasn't good enough: the Cavendish children had been educated at home by a series of private tutors.

The family's superiority complex didn't descend into outright persecution of the 'lesser' folk - which was pretty much everyone, as far as they were concerned - like so many of the pureblood families had done in recent years. They had not been supporters of You-Know-Who. The Cavendishes weren't exactly "followers," you see.

But then again, they hadn't signed up to fight against him, either. They had decided instead to take an extended holiday at one of the many other estates in their holdings, on the Continent, until the unpleasantness blew over. That sort of attitude didn't exactly sit very well with George.

And then there was Audrey's reaction to their announcement earlier in May that he and Annie were expecting again. "Oh, no! You can't be! What will I do about your dress, Annie? All that planning... and now it won't fit!" she had cried, utterly distraught.

That had been the last straw - George had refused to participate in the wedding any further.

"She didn't really mean it like that, George," Annie had said to him later, attempting to calm him down. He could see that she was furious, though - nearly as much as he was. "Some people just can't see beyond their own noses, sometimes."

And now, here he was in this bloody room in this bloody outfit with all these bloody people....

George pulled at his collar for the hundredth time this afternoon. Why did they have to be fully dressed an entire hour before the ceremony? And then be forced to stand here doing nothing but waiting in the meantime? There was no good reason on earth for spending an extended amount of time in dress robes, as far as he could see. He didn't care how much Annie gushed about how good he looked in them - he felt like he was wearing a straitjacket.

Finally, someone came to collect them. The groomsmen lined themselves up in order of tallest to shortest: yet another stupid idea seemingly conjured up purely for his irritation. Not only was he reminded that Ron had shot a few inches taller than him in the years since school (Seriously, how was it that the little freak could still be growing?), but because the bride's cortege was aligned similarly, it meant that only Bill would be escorting his own wife down the aisle. George would be stuck with his sister, Ginny, instead. It was utterly ridiculous.

Musicians numbering nearly a full orchestra, with a choir of boys in accompaniment, began playing and singing as they slowly marched down the interminable aisle, one couple at a time. Bill and Fleur first, then Ron and Audrey's sister, Aurelia (There was a piece of work....). Of course, this torture must be extended for as long as possible, George fumed, extracting every last minute, draining the last drop of enjoyment from the attendees' lives. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to throttle someone, preferably Percy.

As Ginny walked slowly toward him from the far side of the room, and they met at the middle of the aisle, he could tell by her expression that she was feeling aggravated as well. George smiled slightly as he contemplated what the mood must have been like in the bridal waiting room. Yes, he imagined Audrey's domineering behavior would have ensured that every one of her attendants was abjectly miserable and likely plotting murder.

They reached the area in front of the audience, bowed to each other while pulling faces and sticking out their tongues (Take that Audrey!), then took their respective places flanking the bridal 'stage.' As if anyone would be confused as to who was supposed to be the center of attention today.

George ground his teeth as Charlie began the long walk toward him with Hermione on his arm. Then he looked up at the ceiling in impatient frustration. He had to squint from the glare of several hundred floating candles there.

He thought back to the weddings of last summer: his younger brother and sister had finally tied the inevitable knots with Hermione and Harry, who had been Weasleys for years already in every other sense. Both had been small affairs (Anything would be compared to this monstrosity. How does anyone even know four hundred people?). George had been mildly surprised by only one thing: it hadn't been a double wedding. Ron and Hermione's wedding was first by about eight weeks: maybe Hermione finally put her foot down and made Ron do something separately from Harry, he had said jokingly to Annie at the time.

The furor over the great Harry Potter's wedding had been rather amusing, as well. The witches and wizards of Britain apparently considered Harry, as their savior and hero, to be owing them something when it came to his nuptials. There had been a small but vocal minority that clamored for his wedding to be an official state occasion, with articles and letters to that effect having been plastered all over the Daily Prophet for a month. Harry and Ginny threatened to leave the country, if that were the case, but were finally convinced that with enough security, they could marry quietly enough in the Weasley orchard, with guests limited to family and select friends, and Order members patrolling the perimeter.

What an entertaining show that had been! At least a dozen people had been booted unceremoniously off the property, enhancing George's enjoyment of the happy event immensely.

Of course, no wedding could compare to his own. Five minutes, six people, and the result had been that Annie was his wife forever. He pitied the poor idiots, including himself, that were forced to endure this one.

At last, the final attendant couple came into view. Harry and Annie met at the far end of the aisle. George could finally see his wife for the first time since they parted hours ago as she turned and walked toward him on Harry's arm. Lucky effing bastard, he thought with a sigh.

He had seen the gown before, on a hanger, and had even touched the soft velvet and satin as he carried it while they traveled here (What idiot dresses everyone at a summer wedding in black velvet?). It had been transformed, however, during their forced separation of this afternoon, into a thing of true beauty. On the other attendants, it had hung loosely in large billows, shapelessly fluttering to the floor as they walked - the better to show off Audrey's figure in contrast, he could only assume. But on Annie, the satin band folded enticingly around her cleavage, and the black velvet draped down her body, clinging to her swollen belly, the current but temporary home of their fourth child. The skin of her bare arms and shoulders was positively glowing in the candlelight of the cavernous room. Her hair was pulled back from her face by three thin, glittering bands around her head, but several curls had escaped and now fluttered around her forehead and cheekbones.

Okay, he had to admit it - here was a redeeming moment in this otherwise pointless endeavor: Annie was a vision. He smiled as she winked conspiratorially at him during her bow to Harry.

Next, George's twin sons, decked out in miniature versions of his own torturous dress robes, marched solemnly down the aisle carrying satin pillows with the rings.

His heart went out to them. Poor little chaps! What four-year-old deserved to look that ridiculous? Percy will pay for this, George swore under his breath once more, but gave his sons an encouraging wink and smile despite the smoldering anger inside himself.

They went to stand by their Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill.

George looked into the audience, scanning it for a sight of his parents. He found them in the front row, his mother and father sitting uncomfortably with forced smiles. It was obvious they felt completely out of their element, surrounded by all this pomposity and formal luxury, as did the rest of the family.

Baby Merrie (Well, toddler now, actually, he admitted) was fast asleep on her grandmother's lap. That was the only reasonable way to spend this time, he figured, and George was envious of his daughter. Bill's little Dominique was even luckier: she got to stay at home with her maternal grandparents, visiting from France.

George sighed wistfully at the thought of his cool, comfortable home waiting for him in Devon. Please, please, let this be over soon, he prayed.

Finally, Victoire, looking like nothing so much as a meringue, toddled down the runway, pitching flower petals and fairies out of a silly basket.

George was rapidly reaching his limit, and bit his lip. The bloody procession alone had taken thirty minutes.

The music changed, and the only two people who actually needed to be present finally made their entrances. Yes, he conceded: Audrey looked nice in her pretty white dress, if you went for that sort of thing. And Percy looked excited, and pleased, and... well... happy. Maybe I'm overreacting, a bit, he considered. Who doesn't deserve some happiness? If this is what Percy wants...

But then George's feet were hurting in his dress shoes, and he shifted his weight. He swallowed, and felt choked by the neckline of the dress shirt and tie. Every muscle in his arms and shoulders craved the opportunity to flex and rip the constricting seams of the hot, heavy velvet. The grumpy, smoldering feeling began to return.

He glanced over at Annie, who he discovered was trying to hide the fact that she was standing on one leg, flexing and shaking the other foot, then proceeded to do the same for the other.

That was it: the limit of his patience had just been reached. His pregnant wife was clearly uncomfortable, and that was something he refused to tolerate. He wouldn't make a scene at the moment: but they were leaving as soon as the ceremony was over. Family peace be damned!

No less than forty-five minutes later - George was silently screaming in frustrated fury in his head by then - the ceremony had unmercifully concluded and the entire wedding party was directed to assemble in a large sitting room. George had disengaged Ginny from his arm and waited at the head of the aisle, rather than following Ron and Aurelia like a sheep.

As soon as Annie had cleared the aisle, he scooped his wife into his arms and carried her there, setting her gently on a sofa (More velvet? Merlin's beard, it was everywhere in this bloody house!). She had smiled and giggled when he did it, but didn't protest or resist, either. Her eyes looked tired.

"I'm going to get Merrie, and then we're leaving," he informed her, whispering in an attempt to avoid screaming. "Stay with your mum, boys," he charged them as he marched out of the room.

The slam of the door caught Audrey's attention. "What was that? Did somebody leave? We have to wait here until the guests are seated for the reception, then make our entrance. We rehearsed this, Percy!" she barked, exasperated.

Annie bit her tongue. Don't make this harder than it has to be, she steeled herself.

The twins snuggled against her body, trying to get comfortable around her belly, using it as a pillow. It was way past their bedtime at this point, and they were dead on their feet. She had promised Molly to do what she could tonight, keeping George in check, but Annie was exhausted and tapped out of patience herself.

It had been something out of a nightmare: wrestling the twins into their dress robes; chasing after them; cooped up for so long in that room with all the other increasingly sullen female attendants, not to mention blasted Audrey herself, before the ceremony. She agreed with her husband: they had done their familial duty, participated in the important (Annie snorted silently to herself at the word) part of the event, and deserved to be excused from the rest of it, in her opinion.

George was back five minutes later with their sleeping daughter in his arms. He passed her gently to Annie, then roughly struggled out of his fancy jacket. Annie giggled as she heard a seam rip, and meanwhile gently and one-handedly helped her sons to do the same with far less damage to their clothing. George then strode purposefully over to the newlyweds.

"Congratulations. Lovely ceremony. Very moving. Unfortunately, we can't stay any longer. The kids and Annie are exhausted, you understand. Best wishes, bon voyage, and see you soon." George barely kept himself civil, and Annie appreciated the effort he was expending by not punching something or someone, running one hand through his hair and shoving the other deep into his pocket instead.

"But you can't leave now!" whined Audrey. "What will people think? You're Percy's brother, you're supposed to...."

"Audrey, it's enough. Let him go," Percy warned his bride in a stern voice, who began to pout. He turned to George, holding out his hand to shake. "Thanks for coming, George. I know it was a sacrifice for you, and I appreciate it."

Startled, George looked at his brother with a portion of newfound respect and appreciation, tempered with a little bit of embarrassment for his own childish attitude, as he shook his proffered hand. "Not a sacrifice, Percy, really. But the kids, and Annie... it's too much for them," George stammered in explanation.

"No worries. See you all later, and take care. We'll have you over once we're back from the honeymoon trip," Percy assured him.

"Sure. See you then," George replied.

George turned away, picked up his sons in his arms, and strolled out of the room. He felt a bit guilty now, but certainly not enough to stay any longer, that was for sure. Annie followed silently in her bare feet, Merrie still mercifully asleep in her arms, high-heeled sandals dangling from one hand.

Most of the rest of the wedding party mumbled their own goodbyes, eyeing them enviously. George chuckled, predicting Audrey would have a mutiny on her hands within two hours, tops. With any luck, he would be fast asleep in his own bed by then.

*

George woke up on an early December morning to see snow falling outside his window. The clouds were a heavy, leaden grey, and the trees in the distance were bending before a strong wind. The ground was covered in a thin layer of white.

He lightly placed his hand on his wife's belly. He was rewarded with a strong kick that brought a smile to his face.

"Ouch," Annie muttered sleepily. "If you two are going to fight, kindly leave me out of it," she added after yawning.

George and Annie and their unborn child snuggled quietly for fifteen more minutes in the warm cocoon of the bed. Then he felt little Merrie climb into bed behind him, burrowing herself down under the quilt, shoving her shockingly ice-cold little feet underneath him as he gasped quietly.

As sweet as his little girl was, that was an all-too-common rude awakening lately. This winter promised to be an unusually bitter one, he mused. Almost Scottish in nature, if memory served. Ugh.

Annie inhaled deeply. "Ooh. That's a good one," she said.

George agreed - he'd felt the flesh underneath his hand tighten for half a minute, then slowly release. Each time it happened, and it had happened often lately, his heart started to race. Annie was due any day now, and the Braxton Hicks contractions had been frequent over the past two weeks. Maybe this is finally the real thing, he thought excitedly, eager to meet their fourth child.

The rest of the family woke up and they started the day. Annie rolled out of bed, toddled down the stairs, and began fixing breakfast for everyone while George directed the children in getting dressed and making their beds. But as the early morning slipped by and the dim light brightened slightly, it was apparently not to be. Despite a few more strong contractions - and Annie was dutiful in reporting them, not wanting to be accused of "hiding her labor" a third time - nothing came close to resembling a regular schedule.

According to the radio weather reports, a powerful winter storm was set to descend upon southern England today, and the weather forecasters were predicting more than a foot of snow in some areas. And while the weather made no difference at all to George's daily commute, the thought of Annie being alone here in stormy Devon while he went to work in London made him uneasy. He decided on the spot to take the day off instead, popping into the shop in Diagon Alley only long enough to tell them so.

"Not a problem, George. I've got things well in hand here," Verity assured him. "Doesn't look to be too busy here today. Please say hello to Annie for me."

"Will do, and thanks," he called as he dashed back out the door, down the frozen street to the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. It hadn't started snowing in London yet, but the sky was threatening.

He arrived back home just in time to see Annie and their kids bundled up at the back door, ready to head over to the oversized playroom next door. He jogged to the door, calling for his family to wait for him. He took Annie firmly by the arm, the better to steady her as she walked, just in case the snow might be slippery. George reckoned there was maybe three or four inches on the ground already.

George started off the morning by playing crash-up derby with Teddy and his sons, bewitching several large plastic cars to bash each other to bits, reassemble, then do it all over again, to the endless entertainment of the three boys (and himself as well, he confessed). He was now listening to the silent heartbeat of a stuffed dragon as Merrie looked on.

"Is she okay, Daddy?" Merrie asked in her funny baby's voice, her tongue challenged by forming the sentence.

He understood her even though she mispronounced nearly every word. George found it amusing how being a parent had forced him to be an interpreter of sorts. Over the past few years, he had become quite fluent in several dialects of toddler-ese.

"I dunno Dr. Merrie. You listen," he offered. The toy stethoscope stretched between both their ears.

"Yep. She's okay. But she must take loads of nasty medicine, right, Daddy? She's very sick."

"That's probably for the best, yes," he agreed, smiling with silent laughter as his daughter forced the toy to ingest pints of foul, imaginary potions.

His niece Dominique nodded solemnly, wearing a dour scowl on her face and a sparkly, feathery tiara on her head, hovering over the patient. Roxanne Jordan, decked out in similar mismatched finery consisting of a ruffled apron and hard hat, stood by. The three of them always moved in a pack, George remarked silently.

"There you are, Snorty," Merrie said, patting the dragon as she laid it on a makeshift bed. "Let's find some more poor, sick creatures," she suggested to Domi and Roxy, taking them by the hands and leading them to a shelf covered with more stuffed animals.

"This giraffe looks peaky to me," offered Domi.

"I think the frog has spocks," lisped Roxy.

"You lot find some more patients, I'm going to check on lunch," he directed the girls as he heaved himself up off the floor.

Annie and Fleur were busy in the kitchen fixing lunch for everyone. It was Fleur's regular day off from the bank, which she spent helping Annie out at the co-operative daycare in exchange for Annie and the other mothers watching her own children the rest of the week. George had put his foot down a couple of years ago, insisting that they all help his wife out, arguing that it was impossible for her, a muggle, to handle seven magical children by herself. Annie had grudgingly agreed, and now coordinated a schedule whereby Fleur, Angelina, and Andromeda would alternate one day of the workweek to share the child-watching duties. Molly graciously agreed to help the remaining two days, claiming she was thrilled to spend the extra time with her grandchildren.

He took a moment to watch the women working efficiently together, assembling plates of sandwiches, apple slices, peas and cups of yogurt for each of their charges. Fleur was about five months pregnant, if memory served - she was due sometime in the spring but never really showed much until the very end. Annie, on the other hand, was as round as if she'd swallowed a quaffle whole, and had been for a while.

"What's to eat?" he asked, reaching out for a cookie that was sitting on a plate.

Fleur lashed out and slapped his hand. "After you eat your lunch," she barked.

George looked at his sister-in-law in shock as Annie laughed out loud.

"Oh, I am sorry, George!" Fleur cried, his name sounding more like Zhorzh in her thickly-accented English. "It is habit, you know, with the children. Forgive me!" she pleaded, handing him several cookies.

George eyed her warily as he accepted the cookies, then moved quickly out of arm's reach. He strolled to the window in order to survey the storm's progress.

As noon-time approached, the weather had definitely worsened. The amount of snow on the ground had easily doubled in the past couple of hours, and was falling even heavier and faster now. Strong gusts of wind rattled against the side of the building.

"That's beginning to look a bit dodgy, if you ask me," he mused aloud to no one in particular. He silently congratulated himself for deciding to stay home today. This was definitely no time for Annie to be stranded home alone.

After lunch, the three adults sat together at the tiny table, sipping tea as the children napped in cots before the roaring fire, watching the snow fall outside.

"I wonder if it is this bad at Shell Cottage?" said Fleur, sounding a bit worried.

George shrugged. "Want to go over to the house and watch the weather report?" he offered.

"No, merci," Fleur said as she shook her head. "I might take the girls home a bit early, though, if you don't mind, Annie."

"Not at all, Fleur. I don't blame you one bit," Annie replied.

About an hour later, as the children were waking from their naps, George's mother stomped into the building. Snow blew in behind her, and her grandchildren tackled her with excited hugs and cries of, "Granny!"

"Oh, George! I'm glad to see you here. I was just coming to offer to go collect you for Annie," she said amidst a flurry of childish kisses. "I haven't seen snow like this since that blizzard when you lot were little yourselves," she mused aloud.

George and Annie smiled at each other for a moment with the shared memory. It was a little sad for both of them, thinking of the one who was no longer with them. George looked out the window, lost for a bit in the remembrance of his brother.

"Come and see the animal hospital, Granny," squealed Merrie, dragging Molly to the collection of animals laid out on blankets.

"Oh, dear! I hope nothing's contagious!" his mother exclaimed for her granddaughter's benefit.

"Maybe you should contact Lee or Angelina, warn them about the state of things here. Might be best if everyone gets home early today," she called across the room to George.

Molly's voice pulled George back to the present. He understood this was a suggestion only in the loosest sense of the term. His mother seldom issued anything but commands or accusations, regardless of the phrasing - especially whenever she was addressing him. But in this case, he happened to agree with her.

"You might be right," he conceded. Although the weather mattered little to the Jordans, traveling as they would be by Floo Network, George was anxious to get his own family back into their house before things got much worse outside.

It would do no good to contact Lee at work at the WWN - if he was on the air as scheduled there would be no chance for him to leave. George conjured his Patronus and watched as the falcon vanished again into thin air with a message for Angelina to come get Roxy as soon as she could get away, due to the worsening weather.

"Whoa," muttered Annie, her hands clutching at her abdomen. "There's a good one," she added, smiling at George. He glanced at the clock: four p.m. It had been six hours since the last contraction.

"Wouldn't it be just our luck if you went into labor tonight?" he chuckled, unthinkingly.

"Well, thanks for jinxing it, git," she muttered.

"That is a complete misuse of the word jinx, as I've explained to you a hundred times," he teased her.

"Have you ever considered maybe you lot are the ones misusing it?" she argued petulantly.

"Hmm. Let's examine that theory for a moment. Which population is most likely to correctly use the word jinx: wizards who actually perform jinxes, or muggles who are clueless to the entire business?"

"All right," Annie laughed. "You've made your point."

"Too right, I have," he laughed with her.

Three hours later, George was no longer laughing at anything. Snow was falling furiously, the wind was howling, and Annie had continued having contractions which had become stronger and more regular throughout the rest of the afternoon into the early evening.

He had made her lie down while he fixed dinner for their kids. While they sat at the table, eating spaghetti and meatballs - his one and only specialty - he crept upstairs and into their darkened bedroom.

"So?" he asked.

He could just make out Annie nodding in the dim light as his eyes adjusted. "This is definitely the real thing. I told you that you jinxed me, idiot," she argued teasingly.

"How far apart?" He couldn't help feeling elated, despite the anxiety caused by the weather situation.

"Still only about ten minutes," she assured him.

Plenty of time, yet, he reckoned to himself. "I'm going to get Mum," he explained. "You stay here, I'll only be gone a second. The kids are eating downstairs - they'll be fine."

"It's the kitchen I'm worried about, not them. You made spaghetti, I assume?" she scolded him while giggling.

"Excellent guess," he chuckled. "I'm off...."

A minute later he had arrived back at Mole Hill with his mother in tow. She was cleaning off her three grandchildren one at a time, who had applied tomato sauce like war paint onto their faces and hands, as George helped Annie down the stairs.

"Why on earth did you make them spaghetti tonight, of all things?" his mother asked, astonished at the mess before her.

"Are you surprised that the only thing George knows how to cook happens to be the messiest meal possible?" giggled Annie as she gingerly made her way down the stairs.

"You certainly picked quite a night for it, Annie," Molly teased.

"Not me.... George's fault," she said as she eased herself off the bottom stair then hunched over slightly, leaning against him, letting another contraction do its work.

George pressed his thumbs against the base of her spine, trying to do what he could to help. His mother looked at him with curiosity.

"I may have mentioned something this afternoon about it being funny if she went into labor tonight..." he confessed.

"Men..." his mother muttered, shaking her head. "Well, it's not fit for mountain trolls out there, so you'd better get a move on before it gets any worse. Good luck to you, Annie, and keep us posted, George," she called out as they walked slowly toward the door.

George lifted Annie up into the Toyota, just in time for another contraction to start. Annie dropped her chin to her chest and panted through it, gripping the dashboard as she sat on the edge of the seat. He tried to rub her lower back, but the angle was wrong and he sensed it wasn't helping at all.

"We'll be there in a couple of minutes," he said, attempting to reassure her.

Annie nodded.

It took fifteen minutes just to get to the end of their driveway, and another forty-five to drive the five miles to the hospital. George could easily blast through the drifts of snow along the narrow roads with his wand, but was at a loss when their old Land Cruiser got stuck twice on icy patches. The wind was so bad, the ice re-froze as fast as he could melt it.

As the wheels spun uselessly for a third time, he threw up his hands in surrender. "That's it!" he yelled, pounding the steering wheel. "I give up! We're apparating to the bloody hospital!"

"We can't abandon the car in the middle of the road, George!" Annie argued, breathing deeply.

He was no longer sure if it was due to a contraction or frustration.

"Just get out and push, and I'll drive," she ordered.

He started to shake his head in disagreement. She was in no condition to be behind the wheel....

"JUST DO IT, DAMN IT!" she yelled, kicking open her door and sliding out of the seat.

"FINE!" he shouted back, dashing out his own door and running around the front of the car to intercept her. He wanted to hold on to her, to make sure she didn't slip. He fell twice trying to get to her, bruising his hip and possibly fracturing an elbow in the process.

Meanwhile, she walked carefully on her own, holding on to the hood with both hands, without incident.

Annie drove the last mile herself, and it only took five minutes. As they pulled up in front of the hospital, he dove out of the car before it stopped rolling, nearly getting himself hit, and scrambled around to the driver's side to help Annie out.

"Here we are. Everything will be fine now. Let's just get inside," he said, leading her through the automatic doors and feeling relief now that they were safe at the hospital.

They had just stepped inside when all the lights went out.

"Oh, you have got to be KIDDING ME!" yelled Annie.

"Not to worry! The back-up generator will be on in a sec," cried a nurse as she rushed over to them. Several flashlights flickered on.

As they made their way inside, and Annie was undressed in the dark, given a bed to lie on, and examined ("Goodness... eight centimeters... you got here just in time!"), the lights began to flicker back on.

"See, everything is fi-..." George began before he was abruptly silenced by his wife clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Don't speak, George," she commanded. "Do not jinx another thing! Keep your bloody mouth shut... darling," Annie cried, adding the last word to try to soften the blow.

That was when the ridiculousness of the situation hit him. He began laughing hysterically. The nurse looked at him in alarm, which only made him laugh harder.

The next morning dawned bitterly cold and grey, but the snow had finally stopped falling. It was piled in drifts, sculpted into graceful and poetic curves around rock outcroppings, trees and tufts of grass.

George and Annie never noticed. If they had bothered to look out the window of their hospital room, they would have seen nothing but a barren, ugly rooftop anyway; a point made moot by the fact that it was frosted over entirely.

But they only had eyes for their newborn daughter; tiny, pink and lovely. Like the rest of her siblings, she was born with dark blue eyes which were destined to turn brown, and downy reddish hair that formed a ruddy halo around her perfect head. The three of them huddled together in the warm nest that was the hospital bed.

"You've evened up the score, little one," Annie whispered as the infant girl began to nurse again.

"For the time being," George added with a smile and a wink.

They had discussed names quite a while ago. George had wanted to name their next child, male or female, after Harry. "He saved Ginny's life; he saved Dad's life; and he's saved Ron about a hundred times by now. Because of him, you and I don't have to hide, or live in fear for our kids," he had said with fervor. "And that doesn't even cover the fact that he staked me and Fred, in the beginning...."

Annie had agreed, adding that if they had a girl, she wanted to name her Jane as well, as tribute to all Jane had done for her, for them both, over the years.

"Welcome to the world, little Harriet Jane Weasley," she said, gently stroking her rosy cheek. "We're so very happy you're here."