George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

These five chapters (45-49) document a particularly dramatic year (2005) in George and Annie's marriage.

Chapter 45: Hiccup

December 2004 - February 2005

"Once upon a time there were three little kittens, and their names were Mittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet."* George's deep, clear voice rang down the stairway.

Annie could hear him from where she stood in the kitchen, finishing the washing up. He was reading a bedtime story to their daughters; the boys had been reading on their own now for three years, and were in their beds as well, quietly doing just that. They had always divided the household labor this way: Annie felt George's time at home before and after work was best spent with his children. Meanwhile, she would be free to take care of whatever other chores needed attention in blessed peace.

A paper bird fluttered weakly about her head. Annie caught the pesky thing easily - it had bashed itself against the window for ten minutes before George had finally let it in with a black look, once their dinner was finished. It was nearly in tatters now, but the message it contained was still readable:

Annie - Sorry to bother you, but I'm running late for a team meeting. Could you take the rubbish out for me tonight? Thanks, Ginny.

Annie sighed. It was the third note this week. First, Angelina had forgotten to wipe down all the tables and counters one night, and could Annie please pop over and do it? Then Fleur had had to run home urgently, could Annie please take care of sweeping the floor? And now Ginny, who was still only pregnant with her and Harry's first, but was helping out at the school anyway in the off season for quidditch, made the latest request.

Annie had put so much time into the careful scheduling and parceling out of tasks just to keep the "school" - they called it that for lack of a better word - from occupying her every waking moment. Caring for all nine children everyday was exhausting, and nearly impossible under normal circumstances without help. Add to that the chance at any moment that one of them could produce a blast of uncontrolled magic.... Well, she was not stupid enough to insist that she, a muggle, could do it alone (as much as it aggravated her to admit it). The four other mothers and grandmother had juggled their various work schedules to free up one day a week to spend at the school, helping Annie out with the day to day work involved, and Molly volunteered for the day remaining.

Meanwhile, Annie had taken the lead and begun a more formalized course of instruction for the older children. The effort largely stemmed from the fact the twins had begun clamoring years ago to learn how to read for themselves, and the curriculum just grew from there. In addition to the twins, Teddy, Victoire, Roxy, Domi and Merrie had all begun formal lessons with Annie.

But every night this week, Annie had found herself back in the large outbuilding George had built to house the daycare - now a one-room schoolhouse of sorts - to finish up at least one last housekeeping task someone had left undone before going to bed herself. She didn't mind too terribly much; none of the tasks had been that big of a deal. But three nights in a row was getting out of hand. She'd have to speak to the others about it.

As she pulled on her sweater and headed out the door into the chilly December night, she felt the baby in her belly squirm, bringing a smile to her face. She patted her stomach, smiling to herself, and thought: more than half-baked. By the time she reached the school, the poor thing had the hiccups. It was such a funny sensation: the rhythmic spasms coming from within her. It made her laugh every time it happened.

Annie emptied the three small waste bins into a large plastic bag, and headed toward the back door. She planned to do the same in her house tonight, then drive the load down to the end of the lane in her truck early tomorrow, ready for pickup by the garbage service. If she was a betting woman, she'd lay down money that George would likely notice the truck full himself and do it for her unasked. She took a deep breath and pulled the sweater tightly around her, steeling herself for the cold walk ahead.

Suddenly, from out of the blue, a familiar sensation gripped her: a sensation made all the more terrifying in its familiarity.

"NO!" she gasped aloud. It was only December. She wasn't due until March.

Annie breathed through the frighteningly strong contraction. It was far stronger than any false-labor pain she had felt before. But it couldn't be anything else, could it? she argued in her mind. She was just barely seven months along. Not yet....

Annie sat down on one of the tiny children's chairs, gathering her wits, attempting to make some sense of the situation. Maybe it was nothing serious, she tried to convince herself. An isolated incident.

At any rate, it was over now. She felt perfectly fine for the moment. The bag of rubbish was not the least bit heavy, so she dragged it along the ground behind her, out of the school and over to the truck.

Bam. Another one. She glanced at her wrist; eleven minutes had passed since the first one. She gripped the side of the truck bed, head bent and eyes closed, waiting for it to pass, then tossed the bag in.

Annie quickly walked back into the house and lay down on the sofa. Maybe if she just rested for a while, they would stop. Please make them stop, she begged silently. Hang on... hang on... she urged the little life within her.

The baby squirmed once again, almost like it had heard her.

George found her there, on the sofa in front of the fire, legs tucked up and arms curled around her belly. She was panting through another strong contraction, unable to hide from him the tears beginning to roll down her nose.

George was a veteran of just as many deliveries as she was, and instantly deduced what was happening. He fell to his knees in front of the sofa, stroking her hair away from her face with one hand, pressing against her tailbone with the other hand.

"When did they start?" he asked when it was over, fright ringing clearly in his urgent, quiet voice.

"Half an hour ago, maybe," she whispered her answer. It was easier to control the panic in her own voice if it was only a whisper.

"How many?"

"This is the third...."

"Three?!" he cried angrily. "Why didn't you call for me sooner?"

"I was outside... you were upstairs... I thought maybe it was nothing serious...."

George swore quietly for fifteen seconds straight as he paced the floor in front of the fireplace and Annie lay motionless on the sofa.

"Okay, here's what we'll do. You will stay right there. Do not move, for any reason, understand? I'll go to the Burrow and get someone to stay with this lot here, then we will go to hospital. Do... not... move!" he commanded her forcefully.

Annie nodded, and her husband disappeared before her eyes.

An instant later, George popped into being directly into the kitchen of the Burrow. Such a thing was the height of rudeness, but he didn't care.

"Mum! Dad!" he called out loudly, dashing toward the living room.

"What on earth is it?" cried Molly, nearly frightened to death.

"It's Annie. Something's wrong. Can you come to the Hill, right now, for the night?" he cried, rather panicked himself. He started to think it might have been a mistake to leave her alone, no matter how briefly....

"Of course. We'll only be a moment, George," assured his father in a calm voice.

George didn't wait to hear anymore, and disapparated immediately back to his own living room. He found Annie was still curled up on the sofa, eyes closed. He would have guessed she was asleep, if he hadn't known better.

"They'll be here any second... let's go," he whispered.

Annie nodded and began to push herself up to a sitting position.

"Don't!" he ordered as he gingerly scooped her up into his arms. As he carried her to the door, he heard his parents popping into the room behind him.

"Is everything all right?" cried Molly in a hushed voice. "Where are you going?"

George couldn't bear to answer the first question. "We're going to the hospital," he answered as he carried his wife out the door.

*

George woke the next morning with a sharp pain in his neck. He had fallen asleep, he realized, in the chair beside Annie's bed, head resting on the mattress next to her. As he lifted and rolled his head, stretching the muscles of his neck as they protested vociferously, he carefully examined her. He was relieved to find her breathing was slow and relaxed; her face was serene and asleep.

Next, his eyes drifted to the large machine at her bedside. A long tongue of paper was slowly extruding out of it, increasing the pile of it already on the floor, and the energetic drumming sound of a fetal heartbeat filled the room. That strongly comforting rhythm must have been what had lulled him to sleep.

They were safe, for the moment. Both of them.

He reckoned last night had been one of the worst of his life. The hospital staff had rushed Annie inside, strapping on monitors and sticking her with needles galore. But it had worked, thank God. They were able to stop the labor, for that was indeed what it had been. George offered up yet another prayer of thanks for blessed muggle ingenuity. He shuddered to think what might have happened without it....

"Mother and daughter are fine now," a doctor had assured him around midnight as he had scribbled notes onto a clipboard. "If I were you, I'd go home and get some rest."

George had glared at him, grinding his teeth. Then you're an idiotic fucking prick, he had thought to himself. Nothing in the world could drag him away from Annie's side right now.

Mother and daughter. Another girl. They hadn't known the sex of the baby before last night.

Sometime around two a.m. a nurse had come in and offered to turn off the sound of the fetal monitor, to let them sleep, and George had begged her not to. The reassuring sound of that galloping little heart had been the only thing keeping him sane at the time. Annie had smiled at him in understanding, looking tired, as the nurse had left the room.

"You should rest, though," he had urged her quietly, stroking her hair.

She had nodded, closed her eyes obediently, but started a conversation all the same. "I want to name her after you," she had whispered with another smile. "Georgia."

"What have you got against the poor thing already?" George had snorted dismissively. "We should call her Angharad; name her after her beautiful mother, instead," he argued as he held her hand, careful to avoid disturbing the IV.

Annie had stuck out her tongue at him then. "You're going to find me very stubborn about this, George. I'm not going to be swayed...."

"You don't even know from stubborn," he had warned his wife softly.

"This argument is far from over," she had mumbled as she drifted off to sleep.

George yawned and stretched, looking out the window at the sun beginning to wake up. Annie could name their daughter Boo for all he cared, as long as they both were safe and sound. He rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms so deeply into his eyes they forced stars to appear, and considered selling his soul for some really strong coffee. Maybe he could nip over to the waiting area for a second and get some....

Just then there was a quiet knock on the door behind him. He turned to see his younger brother and sister standing in the doorway with worried faces.

"Mum sent us to find out what's happened. Is she okay?" Ginny whispered.

George nodded as they tiptoed inside. "They both are, for the time being," he whispered back.

Ron handed him a blessed cup of steaming coffee and George took a gulp, burning his mouth.

"Thank goodness for that," his brother offered.

"What about the school?" asked Ginny.

George paused in the midst of taking another drink to stare over the rim of the cup at his sister. The school? What about it? Who gives a shrivelfig about the school anyway?

Before he could ask her what she meant, he was distracted by another knock. Angelina and Lee were standing in the hallway.

"George, we just heard. Is Annie okay?" whispered Angelina.

George nodded at her. "Both of them are, yes..."

"What will we do without her?" she turned to ask to Lee, interrupting George's explanation. "Who will watch Roxy while we're at work?"

What the hell is going on here? George thought to himself. Have they all lost their minds? "Look, everyone, I don't know what's going to happen with..."

Just then Fleur swooped into the room, descending upon him with an exaggerated hug. "Oh, George!" she exclaimed far too loudly.

George tried to hush her, but was ignored.

"We only just heard the news. Poor Annie! And the school! What will happen to it?" she cried in her thick accent.

That did it.

"Excuse me!" he said loudly enough that everyone in the now crowded room stopped what they were doing and stared at him in surprise. "My wife and unborn child are fine, thank you all for asking. And as for that sodding school, I thoroughly intend to burn it to the ground as soon as we get out of this hospital room!" he shouted.

"George!" Annie cried out in alarm, awake now.

"I'm sick of it, Annie!" he cried as he spun around to face her. His fury was fueled further by the sight of her, wired and tubed up as she was, lying in the bed. "You work like a bloody house elf in that fucking place, and look where it's got us!" He turned to face the assembly of family and friends. "None of the rest of you can be bothered to lift a goddamn finger!"

"That's not true! Stop it, George," Annie demanded.

"It is true! Every night this week, you've been there till all hours, clearing up some mess you lot couldn't bother yourselves with," he barked, pointing at the guilty looks on their faces. "Every one of you seem to forget that Annie can't do magic! What takes you two seconds and a wave of a wand, she has to do with her own hands!"

"That's enough, I said," she cried angrily. "The doctor said it's no one's fault!"

"The hell it isn't," growled George, quite certain he knew on whom the blame should be laid. Doctors don't know everything...

The rest of the crowded room was cowering in shock and shame.

"Oh, Annie. I'm so sorry," whispered Ginny, her lower lip trembling. "I made you do the rubbish last night...."

"Ginny, don't..." Annie sighed, exasperated.

"He's right," said Angelina softly. "We take you for granted, Annie."

"No you don't, Ange!" she assured her friend. "We all have pull our own weight to make it work, me included...."

"And you insist on pulling more than your share," scolded George, more softly now. "Always so afraid you don't measure up. When are you going to get it through your head, Annie? Magic doesn't make you better. You of all people should know that! Maybe I don't tell you often enough how wonderful you are," he said as he took her hand, careful not to disturb the heartbeat monitor on her finger.

"None of us do," Ginny added. "You're amazing, Annie. The best...."

"No one is better with the kids than you are, Annie," said Angelina, with Fleur nodding heartily over her shoulder.

"Please don't get upset, everyone. I'm fine, and the baby's fine. We'll work something out about the school in the meantime," she said with forced cheerfulness, trying to redirect the focus away from herself. All this gushing was making her extremely uncomfortable.

"WE won't be working out anything. YOU are not setting foot in that place again," argued George, his voice hard again.

Annie snapped her head around to face her husband. An imperious tone of voice always got her blood boiling, no matter who it came from. She glared at him, seething. "If you think you can order me around like that..."

"Not just me, Annie. Those are doctor's orders. You're on bed rest until the baby's born," he commanded.

"I'm not talking about right now. I know that I can't go back until after she's born. But after that...."

"End of discussion, Annie," he warned her in a soft voice.

"Far from it, George," she warned equally softly.

A few moments later the room was cleared of visitors who were anxious to leave the now tense atmosphere, and George was alone with Annie once again. Well, almost alone. For some reason, Ron was hovering in the corner, apparently deep in thought.

Was it congenital, George wondered, this gift of Ron's for being intrusive and annoying? He was about to relive some of the stress he was feeling by physically escorting Ron out of the room when his brother finally spoke up.

"You know, George, I was just thinking about something you said...."

"What?" he asked flatly, gripping the bedrail tightly in order to avoid breaking something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie had her arms crossed, simmering silently while waiting for Ron to leave, attempting to burn a hole in the far wall with her eyes.

"Well, you mentioned something about Annie working so hard. As hard as..."

"I believe I said she works as hard as a house elf, Ron," George snapped. "So sorry if that offended you," he added insincerely.

"Right. And then I thought, maybe that's the answer...."

"Not following you, Ron," George said, losing his remaining pittance of patience rapidly.

"A house elf. Maybe you should get a house elf," Ron offered timidly.

"What? Are you joking?" George cried.

"Ron," said Annie, joining the conversation. "Thanks for your concern, but I neither need nor want a servant in my house."

George snorted in disbelief. "And you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I'm rather more wealthy than I actually am. Mole Hill is far from some posh manor...."

"Okay, not for the house then. What about for the school?" Ron countered.

"For the school?" they both asked simultaneously. Annie and George stared at Ron with stunned looks on their faces.

"Yeah! Why not?" Ron said, beginning to sound excited. "A house elf could do all the stuff that Annie needs help with: the cleaning, the washing up, even the cooking for the kids. You know, like they do at Hogwarts. That way Annie could spend her time just on the teaching bit. "

George and Annie now looked at each other, asking silently if the other was seriously considering what Ron was proposing. If it was remotely realistic to expect such a thing could solve the problem now facing them.

"A house elf could do all that stuff..." mused George, answering her quizzical expression. "But how the hell would we get one? We don't exactly mingle with that sort of crowd now, do we?"

"But we do!" cried Ron. "Not the way you mean, but still. When it comes to house elves, I've got connections, remember?"

Annie shook her head. "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"Hermione, of course. Don't you remember? We're all founding members of S.P.E.W.!"

And so it was that a house elf was coming to live with the Weasley family at Mole Hill shortly after the Christmas holidays that year.

Annie's anxiety about the new arrangement was only exacerbated by the fact that, as she spoke separately with Hermione and her husband about house elves, their accounts differed widely.

According to Hermione, house elves were a race of beings that had been enslaved and oppressed by wizards for ages, and longed to be free. She had made them promise to pay for the elf's services, or she wouldn't help them find one at all. George had rolled his eyes, but did agree to try to pay, if the elf would take it.

George, however, couldn't disagree with Hermione's assessment of the situation more. "They want to be servants," he assured her as he and Annie lay in bed together one evening. "I don't know why - they just do. I mean, nobody likes being mistreated, including them. And God knows most of the sodding prats who have them often do exactly that, but they live to serve them anyway. Most of them take quite a bit of pride in the job. Part of the enchantment, I suppose."

"What enchantment?" How interesting that Hermione had used the word enslavement instead, Annie mused.

"Once they're hired on with a family, they can never leave, unless they're dismissed. The bargain lasts for generations, sometimes, on both sides," George explained.

"Generations!?" she cried. "I thought this was a temporary thing!"

George shook his head, then continued. "They can never refuse to do whatever you tell them to do. If the relationship between master and elf is good, then everything is fine. If not, then watch out. Elves can be quite keen at finding loopholes," he muttered, brow furrowed.

Hearing him utter the word master made her cringe. "This is very odd, George. Are we sure we want to make this kind of commitment? Bringing an elf into our home?" She had only very grudgingly agreed to accept help with the school while she was confined to bed rest, and then for a few weeks after the baby's birth, just until she recovered. Then it was right back to her work with the children...

"No, I'm not," George averred. "That's why we're setting up this whole mad business on a trial basis. We'll see how this year goes, and then make a decision..."

"A year?!" she shrieked. This was a new wrinkle to the situation.

"I will not continue this discussion until you calm the hell down," George threatened.

Annie took several deep breaths. In as calm a voice as she could muster, she began to speak again. "I never agreed to take a whole year off, George," she said.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're done with it for good, Annie," he replied sternly. "But I know how bloody stubborn you get, so I'm willing to compromise. And a full year was the shortest amount of time the elf would accept."

Annie groaned, rubbing her temples. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"A goddamn bloody mess, that's what," George grumbled.

*

"When is she coming, again?"

"Ron said they'd bring her 'round about ten."

"All right, then," sighed Annie. "I suppose we'd better head downstairs." She threw her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Why don't you let me get that?" George offered with a warm smile. He scooped her up before her feet touched the ground.

"I must weigh a ton..." Annie giggled as she threw her arms around his neck. "You don't have to do this all the time, you know."

"But it's very rewarding," he argued, nuzzling her neck behind her ear.

"Please pay attention to where you're going," teased Annie.

A minute later they sat together on the sofa, facing the fireplace, waiting for the arrival of the new house elf. Molly was already at the school building with her grandchildren. She had offered to stay with them at the Hill during Annie's confinement, as well as help out with the school. Even so, every morning Annie insisted on showering and getting dressed, otherwise she felt like an invalid. This morning she managed to ready herself in five minutes flat.

"Twenty minutes, remember?" George warned her.

"That's a completely arbitrary number..." argued Annie.

"Which the doctor imposed on you for good reason. You're always trying to cheat," he complained.

"I didn't get out of bed once yesterday!" she countered

"I suppose you think that means you get forty minutes today? It doesn't work like that, Annie," he said impatiently.

Annie's retort - that she was expecting that very thing no matter what he thought about it - was interrupted by a greenish flare of light in the fireplace, and three persons stepped out. Someone looking at their profiles might assume it was a young family, but that assumption would be dashed upon closer inspection of the smallest member of the group.

The house elf was no bigger than their four-year-old daughter Merrie, Annie mused. She had a large red nose, erect ears, and sad brown eyes. She was wearing a neat blouse and skirt, and carrying a tiny satchel. Her face was smiling and nervous, as if she was hoping to make a good impression.

"Welcome to our home, Winky," said George warmly but cautiously, choosing his words carefully, as he stood to greet her.

"Thank you, Master. Winky is so very happy to be meeting you at last," she cried enthusiastically.

"No, Winky. I'm not your master, remember?" George corrected her with a kind but firm voice.

Winky's smile fell from her face and she hung her head. "Yes, sir. I remember. Winky must prove herself to you, for one year, before you is trusting her."

Annie and George looked at one another, utterly perplexed. This was not what Annies had expected at all. George shrugged, at a loss as well.

"That's not it at all, Winky," Hermione chimed in, trying to help. "George and Annie are good people, and want to pay you fairly for your work. You're a free elf, don't forget."

Winky looked at Hermione with thinly veiled loathing, as if no one could have said anything more insulting to her. "Yes," she said with distaste. "Master... I mean Mister George... may be paying me, if he must."

"We should get going, Hermione," Ron urged.

How unlike Ron to be so perceptive, Annie thought. She smiled her thanks to him as he shuffled a reluctant Hermione back into the fireplace and left.

George knelt down before the little creature, and she looked a bit frightened as a result. "Winky, I know Hermione said that I would pay you, but that's your decision," he said, speaking in a quiet, gentle voice he usually reserved for comforting their children. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. That goes for everything here, understand? Now, do you want to be paid?"

"Not really, no, sir. Such a shameful thing," Winky mumbled, shaking her head, eyes downcast.

"Then that settles it," he said with a nod. "I will put money aside for you each month, to keep my promise to Hermione. If our arrangement doesn't work out at the end of the year, it is yours to do with what you wish: use it for yourself or throw it in a lake for all I care. If this does work out, and you wish to stay with us, then you can help us decide what to do with the money. Do you agree to this?"

"You is wanting Winky to... to decide all these things?" Winky stared at George, flabbergasted.

George looked pointedly at Annie, searching for confirmation as well as help explaining the situation. They had both agreed to this stipulation, and she nodded.

"Winky, you will decide many things, if you choose to stay here," she said. "We will always ask you if you want to do something. It will always be your choice whether to do it. You will always wear proper clothes. And you will always be welcome in our home, to stay or go as you please. You will never be enslaved here," Annie explained softly.

Winky looked thoroughly confused, her eyes searching each of their faces. "Winky thought you is wanting a house elf for your family," she said with disappointment. "I is been wanting a family of my own for a long time now. Winky is been missing it so, ever since Master Crouch.... That's why I is agreeing to leave Hogwarts." She began to sniff and blubber a bit.

"I'm so sorry about your other family, Winky," said Annie gently. "My husband explained to me that you are a sort of orphan, like me." Annie knew it was technically true - that she was an orphan herself - but she hadn't felt like one in so long now that it almost felt like a lie to say it.

Winky wiped her eyes and nose with the tissue George had held out for her.

After the elf composed herself, Annie continued. "I very much need someone to help me care for our school. I would like to show it to you, if you are still interested. This school is for our own children and a few others as well. You will find we have a very big family to care for," Annie added with a smile.

Winky finally looked directly up at her. There was a look of hope on her face at Annie's mention of the word family.

She looks so pitiful, Annie thought. A strong, almost motherly urge to comfort this poor creature came over her. It was hard not to think of the elf as a little child, odd-looking and ageless though she was. Annie gingerly stood up and held out her hand to the little elf. "Will you come with me, Winky?"

The little elf looked at her hand with consternation, then back up into her eyes. Apparently, Annie's behavior was difficult for Winky to understand. Annie wondered what sort of mistreatment she must have suffered in the past to be so skittish of such basic human kindness. Winky took a few moments to consider the offer, then with a look of determination, took Annie's hand and nodded.

Annie and Winky walked hand in hand through the house, out the door, and across the short, frosty walk to the school building. George hovered behind them, ready to snatch his wife away at the slightest inkling of trouble. As he opened the door of the school for them, they were greeted by a blast of warm air and a chorus of children's voices at play.

Winky's eyes grew large at the sight of nine children, the oldest only six years old, running about. Boys and girls alike had been busying themselves with the many toys and games spread about the room. They looked up as one to see who it was that had come to visit them.

"Daddy! Mummy!" cried four of the little children, who came dashing over to them.

George moved to intercept them, catching them all in his arms before they could tackle Annie with their enthusiastic greetings. Winky took several steps backwards, looking startled by their exuberance.

"Have you come to play with us?" asked Fred.

"Not just now, I'm afraid. I promise to come back later, after lunch," George offered.

"Mummy as well?" Janie asked eagerly.

"No, not Mummy. She has to rest, remember?" George answered the child, but looked pointedly at Annie as he spoke.

"Who are you?" Merrie asked with friendly curiosity, directing her question to the elf. "Have you come to our school to play with us?"

"She's a house elf, Merrie," explained her brother Art. "She's very old, not a little girl like you."

"Oh," said Merrie, sounding disappointed. "Well, sometimes grown-ups like to play, too," she added, smiling at Winky.

Tentatively, Winky returned the little girl's smile.

"All right now, off with you! Your Mum is making me do grown-up things this morning," George explained, sighing with disappointment for their benefit. "Promise to save me a game of slay the dragon."

The children nodded and drifted away from the adults, back to their games.

"You see, Winky, this is our school room. The children come every weekday to learn lessons and play. Our job is to teach them, feed them, and keep them safe," Annie explained as she led Winky to the kitchen area and sat down on a chair under George's watchful gaze. "There are nine children now, and more on the way." She smiled, patting her growing belly.

The elf turned to look at Annie sideways, giving her a bashful smile in return.

"Did Hermione explain to you that I am a muggle, Winky?" Annie asked.

Winky's eyes grew large again, and she looked away in embarrassment, as if she didn't think the question was appropriate for polite conversation. Almost as if Annie had used a crude word. "Er, yes, Miss."

Annie noted Winky's careful use of formal address. "Does that make you uncomfortable, Winky?" she asked, honestly curious.

"Oh, no, Miss. Winky is understanding many wizards look beyond their own kind for... er...."

George began to chuckle, causing Winky to squirm with discomfort. Annie shot her husband a look, warning him to desist.

"But Winky is knowing all about the Weasley Family, Miss," she cried eagerly, attempting to change the subject to something she thought would be more pleasing to them. "Weasleys is one of the finest wizarding families in Britain! Pure-blooded for many generations!"

George rolled his eyes and snorted. Winky seemed to realize her gaffe then and looked back down at the floor, mortified.

"Yes, well, you will find that the importance of bloodlines matters very little to our family," Annie explained gently. "But the children - all the rest of the family but me, in fact - they are all magical. That's one of the reasons I so desperately need your help, Winky. It's just too much for me to keep up with!"

Annie hammed it up a bit, hoping to sway the elf by playing on her sense of pity. All her reservations about adopting a strange magical creature, all her resistance to accepting help with the school were melting away. Replacing them now was a strong urge to give this little elf a loving home.

"Yes, I is seeing how much Miss needs my help" Winky nodded, scanning the room around her. "Winky finds it hard to believe you is managing so long without her."

"Does that mean you agree to help us, Winky?" Annie asked her, employing a pleading, hopeful voice.

"It would be an honor to serve the House of Weasley, Miss." Winky smiled generously and nodded.

"Thank you very much!" Annie exclaimed, barely stifling a giggle at Winky's lofty idea of her household. House of Weasley, indeed. She glanced at George, who was pressing his lips together as well in an attempt not to laugh out loud.

"We're so pleased to have you with us!" Annie cried enthusiastically. "Welcome to our family, Winky! We hope you will be very happy here."

*

Annie felt a sharp sear of pain low in her abdomen. She cried out from it, waking herself and her husband.

"What is it?" George whispered urgently.

"It hurts," was all she could gasp.

"Another contraction?"

She managed to shake her head. There was no squeezing, no dynamic rise or fall of the pain level. Just a stabbing, constant pain, concentrated in one spot.

"Annie?" he asked, sounding panicked.

It must be too dark for him to see, she thought. She was going to have to speak. "No... just hurts," she gasped again.

She felt the bed shimmy slightly as George leaped out of it, heard him dressing quickly. Then she felt the baby move within her. The pain soared to new heights along with the fetal movement, and Annie cried out again, failing to fully muffle the scream into her pillow. A few moments later, the pain settled back to the previous level of agony, once the baby was still again.

George had frozen in place, only one leg of his trousers pulled on.

"She's okay," Annie gasped to reassure him. "She's still moving."

In the next second, George was dressed and disappeared. Five seconds later, he was back.

"I sent Winky to the Burrow to get my parents. Let's go."

Annie tried to shift her weight, in order to make it easier for George to lift her, and felt a small gush of fluid from between her legs. If she hadn't been in so much pain, she would have been mortified.

George took a deep breath. Secrecy laws be damned, he thought, clearly envisioning the hospital entrance. He'd personally obliviate every one of them later, if he had to. Under the cover of pre-dawn darkness, he apparated with Annie in his arms then dashed through the emergency entry doors.

Ten minutes later, strapped into every monitor the hospital owned, George reckoned, Annie lay once again on a hospital bed. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the side rail bars, and her face was wracked with pain.

"Can't you give her anything for it?" he cried as the doctor began lifting the bedsheet covering her.

"Mr. Weasley, first we need to find out what's happening," he explained, speaking infuriatingly slowly and calmly. He now turned to Annie. "Mrs. Weasley, I need to examine you now. Please try and relax."

Annie laughed at the idiot now leaning between her propped-up and spread-open legs. "Oh, sure... why didn't I think of that sooner?" she said softly with a snort.

Despite the tension - or maybe because of it - George couldn't stifle a smile either, even though he truly hated witnessing this part. He took her hand in his.

The smile on his face was gone as soon as Annie sucked in her breath through her teeth a moment later. George saw her eyes begin to roll back into her head before she closed them. He desperately wanted to look away, or at least to rip the doctor's fool head from his neck for causing her more pain, but couldn't do either. It was small consolation that his hand felt close to breaking as she crushed it in her own - he would have taken all the pain onto himself, if he could.

"Yes, well, this is simple enough. I've found the trouble right here.... Mrs. Weasley, your cervix is about four centimeters dilated, I'd say, perhaps fifty percent effaced, most likely due to your previous pre-term labor. And at this very moment, I am touching your baby's foot."

"Foot?!" cried George.

"Can't you... push it back in?" gasped Annie. "It's still too early!" she cried.

"I could, yes, at great personal discomfort to you, Mrs. Weasley. But there would be no point. You see, I can feel the actual foot, not the amniotic sac. Your water has broken. This baby must be born this morning."

"But... it's still a month before she's due!" said George, still in shock.

"Yes, I know it's a bit early. But still very good odds. Much better than six weeks ago, I assure you. There's nothing else for it, after all, once the water breaks. No turning back now, I'm afraid!"

An hour later, George was dressed in a surgeon's costume, feeling idiotic and frightened. Annie was not in labor, and due to the fact that the baby's foot seemed to be stuck where it was, their daughter was going to be delivered cesarean. George was not entirely sure what they meant by this, but judging by the fact they were making him dress up for the occasion, he was confident it wasn't going to be like anything he'd seen before.

And he was right. He followed an entourage of nurses as they wheeled Annie into yet another room, warned him not to touch anything. Then one of them asked him if he could stand the sight of blood.

"Yes?" he answered her, perplexed. He'd seen his share of blood, having witnessed three prior deliveries. What an unnerving question to be asked, he thought. Didn't exactly bode well, did it? He began to fret, drumming his fingers against his thighs.

Then they lifted Annie from the bed onto a table like a slab of meat, and literally strapped her down to it. George's sense of alarm was growing rapidly. He glanced at her face as they draped large pieces of light blue-green paper over her. She was calm and awake, and smiled at him. He assumed she was trying to calm him with her smile, rather than enjoying the process.

A nurse directed him to stand by Annie's head. "You don't have to watch, you know," she instructed him, her eyes searching his face with a worried look.

What was it with this nurse? Why was she saying such odd things?

Annie looked searchingly into his eyes and spoke to him in a regulated voice, like she was reassuring one of their children. "This is perfectly all right, George. It happens all the time, I promise. Whatever you see, don't panic, okay?"

Annie apparently knew something he didn't. He was about to ask what she meant by that comment when the doctor announced he was ready to begin.

George stood in paralyzed shock as his wife was gutted before his eyes.

"George, it's fine. I can't feel anything. Do you hear me, George?"

The murderous monster standing next to his wife reached inside her, began rooting around.

"George, look away! George!"

The two masked demons standing on either side of his wife's disemboweled carcass both continued defiling her body, one nearly elbow deep inside her, the other pushing and pressing on her belly from above. Her blood was everywhere. George hated himself for standing here, mutely watching this horror happen.

Murderers! I have to stop them! He began to reach for his wand as a fiery rage flared within him. They will pay...

"George! Look at me!" Annie yelled.

Annie yelled? He must be hallucinating her voice. There was no possible way she could be speaking, after this. He turned to look at her face.

"George!" she cried in relief. "You see that I'm okay? Keep looking at my eyes!"

Annie's lovely violet eyes held his attention now. Was she truly still alive? She kept talking to him. He had no idea what she was saying, his brain couldn't process the speech, but he saw her lips moving, and heard her voice. That had to mean something, didn't it? She was speaking, therefore she was breathing, so she must be alive.

Another sound now penetrated his mind: a tiny wail. Not from Annie. He hazarded a glance toward the abattoir the other end of the room had become.

The baby. Their daughter. She was alive and crying. The butcher handed her off to a nurse who whisked her away.

"Go with her, George. Stay with the baby. Do you understand me?"

George looked at his wife's face once again, searching for confirmation of the command he had just heard.

"Stay with the baby," Annie repeated. "I'll be fine, I promise. Go!" she urged him.

He nodded and took a few steps away from his wife, his gaze still locked onto her eyes.

"I'm okay, George. Go!" she repeated.

He finally turned away from Annie and faced the bustle of activity around his newborn daughter. He sucked in a shocked breath as he registered how profoundly tiny she looked. One of the nurses was rubbing her briskly, attempting to clean off the muck covering her. Another was holding a tiny plastic oxygen mask in front of her face.

But his baby daughter stared right at him, completely ignoring the chaos and gore around her. Her dark blue eyes were open and alert; her face calm and serene despite the rough treatment from the nurse scrubbing her. He could almost imagine she was trying to reassure him somehow, letting him know she was all right. That everything was all right.

They began wheeling the strange contraption she was lying on out of the room, and George silently followed, as if he had been Imperiused by her. He watched as they finished cleaning her, weighing and measuring her, examining her, pouring over her every physical aspect.

"She's perfect, Mr. Weasley!" one of the nurses announced cheerfully. He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, mute as a post. "Would you like to hold her?"

Would he? This hospital was staffed by idiots and monsters, he thought to himself. Never again would he or his wife set foot in this slaughterhouse! Hell would be better than this den of sadism and butchery!

"Yes," he answered simply, reaching out for her.

He gathered the tiny swaddled thing in his arms, looking all the more miniscule as he touched her rosy cheek with his finger. Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at him again. How could she be so alert, he wondered, after all that? He quietly communed with his daughter as they stared into each other's eyes, leaning against the wall of the nursery.

George felt a tap on his shoulder, startling him. He glanced around. His daughter was still in his arms, asleep now. He wondered when had he sat down, and where was he, exactly? He looked up at the clock: it was after ten in the morning.

"Mr. Weasley, your wife is ready to see you now. She's in a recovery room, resting. You may take your baby with you...."

George nodded, thinking of Annie for the first time since he left the operating room. He smiled at his daughter, imagining how impatient his wife must be to see her by now. He rose carefully, trying to avoid disturbing the sleeping baby in his arms. The nurse led him to Annie's room.

"There you are, you two!" came a weak voice from inside when he reached the doorway. "Stop hogging her, George. It's my turn now!"

George tore his eyes away from the baby and looked at Annie. A visceral stab of shock hit his gut as he took in the sight. She looked deathly pale, utterly spent. Her eyes were sunken into her head. She was smiling, but it was a forced smile that failed to belie her pain.

"Give her to me, George," she whispered shakily, weakly lifting her arms. The small movement looked as if it took every ounce of strength she had left.

Annie didn't look strong enough to support even the feathery weight of their baby, he thought with dread. George eased himself onto the bed next to her. He carefully passed the bundle in his arms to her, but kept one arm underneath their daughter, just in case.

Annie's smile grew bigger; became far more genuine now that the baby was in her arms. "So lovely!" she cooed. "And so impatient! What was so important about today that you couldn't bear to miss?" she said softly, stroking the ruddy fuzz on the top of the baby's head.

Their daughter began to root against the blanket swaddled around her face. Annie spoke soothingly to her as she gingerly moved to offer a breast. The baby eagerly took it and began to nurse.

"Poor little Georgia! So hungry!" she whispered.

"Oh, don't start with that," George groaned, leaning his head gently against Annie's.

"Get used to it. It's her name," Annie giggled, unable to tear her eyes from their baby.

"Absolutely not. Look at her.... She's the spitting image of you. Annie would be much more fitting."

"Not a chance," she said smiling, shaking her head.

Neither of them could look away from the angelic face before them.

"Perhaps a compromise?" another voice came from elsewhere in the room.

All three of them were startled by it. Annie and George looked up to see a nurse had entered the room and had been checking on Annie's monitors.

"What about Georgeanna?" she said. "That's both of them covered."

"You know, that's not half bad," offered George.

"I could live with that," agreed Annie. "What do you think, little one? Are you a Georgeanna?"

The little girl had begun rooting against Annie again, and the motion of her head was identical to a nod. Her parents chuckled as Annie helped her daughter find the nipple once more.

"Georgeanna it is," George said softly as their daughter nursed greedily.

"Georgeanna Muriel," added Annie.

"You want to name her after that old bat? After all the crap she gave you?" George was incredulous.

"She gave us a roof over our heads! She opened her home to us when it was very dangerous to do so!" Annie argued.

George had to concede the point. Great Aunt Muriel had housed a good portion of the Weasley family when it was her neck on the line for it, during the last days of the war. He wondered if the old battle axe would be pleased to be memorialized by his daughter's name, or, more likely in his opinion, spinning in her grave.

"You look tired," he whispered. Actually, she looked far more than tired. He had never seen her look worse, and that was saying something.

"I am," she nodded. "But I wouldn't miss this for anything," she answered with a weak smile, still gazing down at their daughter.

*

Three days later, they were still in the hospital. Georgeanna was improving: eating well and gaining weight. Annie, on the other hand, was not.

George was nearly frantic with worry. His wife was still bleeding too much, the doctor said, to go home yet. And now, this morning, she had begun running a fever. None of the nurses would look him in the eye any more.

George looked up as he heard a quiet knock on the door. The doctor was motioning him to join him in the hallway. George glanced at Annie - asleep, as usual. She had just enough energy to feed the baby every three hours, and slept all the rest of the time.

George nodded and rose carefully to avoid jostling the baby. When he wasn't curled around Annie in her sick bed, keeping her warm (because she shivered constantly, otherwise), he was holding Georgeanna. Wrapping his arms around one or the other of them was the only thing that kept him from putting holes in the walls out of frustration. He reached the hallway and stood there, swaying gently as all parents reflexively do while holding a sleeping baby.

"Mr. Weasley, I would like to give your wife a transfusion, if that's all right. Perhaps a round of blood will help strengthen her system, give her some energy to fight back against what may be an infection developing."

George nodded without understanding, unwilling to dispel his ignorance by asking for clarification. Why in hell is he asking me? He's the doctor, after all....

"I like to ask family members of transfusion recipients if they would be willing to donate blood. Do you know your blood type?"

"Human?" George answered, completely at a loss with this effing muggle's infuriating questions.

The idiot chuckled in response. "Very funny, Mr. Weasley. I'm glad to see you still have your sense of humor. I'll tell the nurse to arrange for you to donate a few pints. If you're compatible, we'll give it to your wife. I find it often helps the family to feel like they're actively doing something to help...."

"Sure... whatever she needs."

The doctor pasted a false smile on his face, lasting only a moment.

"There's something else, isn't there?" George asked.

He nodded solemnly. "Mr. Weasley... I'm afraid that I must warn you... it is imperative that your wife... not attempt another pregnancy in the future. She cannot risk it, after this."

George calmly, numbly absorbed the information. He understood what the man had said; could comprehend the words he used, but had nothing in reserve to process what in any other instance would have been a crushing blow. Little Georgeanna would be the last of his and Annie's children. Never again would Annie glow with pregnancy; never again would he feel a baby kick from within her.

He nodded slightly, unable to produce any other response.

"She'll be all right, though? After you give her the blood?" he asked a moment later, voice shaky. He was unembarrassed by the pleading tone there.

The doctor smiled, but did not answer.

*

When the doctor returned the next morning, his tone was far more upbeat. "Well, Mrs. Weasley, you've made some excellent progress overnight. The transfusion helped even more than I expected. The bleeding now seems under control, and your vital signs much better. No more fever, I see."

"I'm thinking about becoming a vampire. I had no idea how good it feels to have other people's blood pumping through my veins," she replied. Her voice was quiet, but stronger than it had been for days.

"Your husband's blood, to be precise," the doctor added, writing on the chart. "He's type O negative - what we call a universal donor. I do hope he'll consider donating regularly."

"Now that I have a taste for it, he'd better be on his toes," she warned.

"That's no way to thank someone for rescuing you," the doctor chided her teasingly.

"George does it so often, it's becoming passé," she explained.

The doctor looked up at the strange couple. They were smirking at each other at the moment. Far too young to have so many bloody children, he muttered silently to himself. Hopefully, this will knock some sense into them!

"I'm pleased to say that if you make as much progress throughout the day today as you did last night, I'll be releasing you tomorrow morning. That ought to provide sufficient motivation for you to continue on the path of improvement, I'd wager," he offered.

"Deal," she said simply.

"No take-backs," said her husband.

* From "The Tale of Tom Kitten" by Beatrix Potter