George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 46: Trials

Spring 2005

Annie quietly shut the back door behind her and began tiptoeing silently toward the stairs so as not to disturb her sleeping daughter. A happy, contented smile graced her features.

"Ahem."

She was startled to see George's sullen face as he sat at the dining table, drumming his fingers. Her heart sunk as she realized he was itching to go another round with her. When was this going to end?

"Oh, you're home early," she said, keeping her voice quiet and level. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Georgeanna was napping in her little sling. Annie continued walking slowly toward the staircase, intending to go upstairs and lay her down in her crib before tangling with George once again.

"And where have you been, as if I don't know? Caught you sneaking over there, haven't I?" he said quietly, but there was no masking the anger in his voice.

Stay calm... don't rise.... Annie turned to face him, one foot on the first step. "I wasn't aware I had to sneak anywhere. Angelina wanted to show me something...."

It was adorable, what the children had been working on today: a large mural painted with their hands and feet on an old sheet. They were extremely pleased with themselves, and every one of them was a walking rainbow with the mess. The whole thing had been happy and hilarious. Every vestige of those pleasant feelings vanished with her husband's next comment.

"A handprint to clean off a window, maybe? A spill needed mopping up?" he said icily.

He found the hot button. A fury to match his flared before her eyes. "Is that what you think I do over there? I spend my day tidying up?" She wished she could stomp loudly up the stairs, but controlled the urge so as not to wake the sleeping infant in her arms. She could hear he was following her.

"That's what got us into this mess, isn't it?" he snapped. "They take advantage of the fact you won't say no to any of them!"

"That's not true!" she hissed. She had never felt taken advantage of. It was only fair for her to pull her own weight....

"You're nothing but a glorified house elf to the lot of them, and I won't stand for it!" he hissed back. "They have Winky now. You stay here, understood?"

Annie bit her lip as she gently set their baby daughter into her crib, covered her, then turned to her husband standing in the doorway. She glared at him and stabbed her finger toward the staircase. He held his tongue until they were both back on the ground floor. She spun around to face him then, using the same finger to stab him in the chest for emphasis.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! That was a hurtful thing to say, not to mention utterly false, and you know it! What's wrong with you lately? Why are you being such an overprotective and overbearing jackass?"

"Why are you being so perversely pigheaded about this?" he cried. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, but if that's the only way I can keep you safe..."

"Safe? I'm supposed to believe this is about my safety?" she cried in disbelief. "The war is over, George. It has been for a long time. Let it go! No one's coming for us anymore," she argued.

George grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, like he was going to shake her. "I can't lose you, too!" he choked, his eyes glittering with panic and fury. "I won't watch you kill yourself for that bloody school! I need you more!"

Finally, they were getting somewhere. All the arguments for four months now had been dancing around this, the real issue. And it became crystal clear to her, in that second, that they all led back to Fred. It wasn't about a balance of power. It was about fear.

"George," she whispered, all the anger now sapped from her voice. She held his face in her hands as she spoke. "You won't lose me. I won't leave you. Every doctor in the hospital told us the same thing - the trouble with Georgeanna had nothing to do with my working at the school, or at home, or anything. It was just one of those inexplicable things that no one can predict or control. And there's nothing you or I could've done to prevent it. I'm not in any danger now, especially from anything at the school. You can't hover over me like this for the rest of our lives."

"Can't I?" he asked, his sighing tone admitting his defeat. She could see in his rational mind, he knew she was right. He pulled her into a gentler but still firm embrace, holding her head against his chest with one hand as he buried his face in her hair. "I don't understand it: this pull it has for you."

"Do you remember when you were sixteen, and you decided to go into the joke business with Fred?" she asked, listening to his strong heartbeat pounding as she held him just as tightly as he held her. "Can you remember why?"

"We were idiots," he said lightly.

She pulled her head away from him to look up at his face. George smiled slightly.

"How about some honesty, please? Pretend to have a serious, adult conversation, at least," she said.

"It was what we were meant to do, and we both knew it," he said with a shrug.

Annie nodded in understanding. "It was your calling. It still is. The humor, the creativity, the challenge of inventing something new.... It's a perfect fit. Going to work every morning isn't a chore for you; it's a labor of love."

"I suppose you're right," he admitted.

"So why are you trying to take the same thing away from me?"

"Is that really how you feel about it?" he said, surprised.

"Yes!" she cried. How could he be so blind as to not see it? "This isn't some hobby - something created to fill time. Raising our children, teaching them all at the school.... I love it! It's what I was meant to do. It's something I'm good at. It's something valuable I can contribute..."

George snorted like a bull ready to charge. "There it is: that muggle chip on your shoulder. I knew it was behind all this stubbornness somewhere. When are you going to get it through your remarkably thick skull that you are just as good, if not better, than any of the rest of us? Magic counts for nothing!" he said in a voice that would be shouting if not for the sleeping baby upstairs.

She stepped away from him and paced across the kitchen floor. It frustrated her that he couldn't seem to put himself in her shoes, see things from her perspective on this point.

"How would you feel, if the situation were reversed? If every effort you made could be improved on, done faster and better with nothing but a wish? Would you be satisfied to be kept like a bird in a gilded cage?"

George sighed. "You're not a pet..." he protested. They had had this argument before, a dozen times at least.

"I know that. But it is how I feel, sometimes." She had given in, conceded the upkeep of the school was outpacing her capability, and agreed to accept Winky's help. But the teaching... that was another matter entirely. She would never give that up....

"Imagine how wonderful it is to me, to discover something I can do that can't be improved upon by magic! Something I can contribute through my own effort that is appreciated and valued and important! And you want me to give it up!"

"I want you to be happy... but I want you to take it easy, as well. Don't lie to me or to yourself and say the past four months haven't shaken you, too. You're not as strong as you were before. Don't push yourself too soon. Promise me that."

Annie nodded, acknowledging his request was fair. He was right - she had been rattled by the events in the hospital, and would never be the same after what had happened with Georgeanna. "As long as you promise you won't punish me for going back to work at the school, eventually. I don't want to fight with you about it forever. I will take it easy for now, but I will go back."

"At a later date, to be determined jointly?" he countered, clawing for some small concession on her part.

"Deal," she agreed.

George pursed his lips, far from satisfied, but recognizing the futility of pressing the issue further for the moment. "No take-backs," he added.

*

Ron stepped out of the fireplace to an unexpected sight. The room was dark - that much wasn't a surprise. But the fact that his brother was standing half-naked a foot away, wand pointed directly at his face, was a shock.

"This had better be life or death, you little shit," George snarled, keeping his wand pointed right between Ron's eyes.

Ron glanced around for clues to explain his brother's irrational, aggressive behavior, and immediately wished he hadn't. George was holding up his trousers with his hand that wasn't aiming the wand, and Annie was clutching an afghan around herself, reclining on the sofa cushions.

"For chrissakes... right in front of the fireplace? Why not outdoors, or on a busy street, where a few more people could see?"

"It's eleven fucking o'clock at night, in my own goddamn house!" George hissed, taking a step to the side, attempting to help hide the worst of Annie's exposure, and nudging his wand a few inches closer to Ron's nose.

"Ron, what's wrong?" Annie said, using the calmest voice in the room, peeking around from behind George's legs.

"Right. Sorry, Annie. It's just... something's the matter with Hermione. She's locked herself in the toilet.... I can hear her crying...." Ron spoke while looking at the ceiling.

"What the hell did you do now?" spat George.

"Nothing! I swear! At least, I don't think so," Ron answered, indignation and confidence waning in his voice the longer he spoke. George rolled his eyes, but lowered his wand at last.

"Ron, what's the matter?" Annie repeated.

"That's just it! I don't know, and she won't tell me. She just said she wants to see you."

"Me?" Annie exclaimed. That was certainly unexpected.

"Please... will you come?" Ron pleaded.

Annie looked at George, who sighed in frustration but nodded all the same. "You go on with dipshit here..." he said as he jerked his head toward his fuming brother. "I'll go see if anyone at the Burrow can come watch the kids, and meet you there in a bit." George still didn't like the idea of relying entirely on Winky, or leaving her unsupervised with their children. He seemed to have some deep-seated trust issues when it came to house elves, Annie mused.

"D'you mind?" Annie asked her brother-in-law, spinning her finger around in midair.

"Oh, right. Sorry...." he muttered as he turned his back to her. Annie quickly gathered up her clothes and scurried to the first floor bathroom to get dressed. A minute and a half later, she stepped into the fire holding Ron's thick forearm, emerging a moment later in his and Hermione's little London flat.

"Just upstairs, to the right," he directed her. Ron's face betrayed an enormous amount of stress and worry. As Annie climbed the stairs, she began to hear sniffles and muted sobs from behind a small door with a light visible underneath.

Annie knocked quietly. "Hermione? You wanted to speak to me?"

"Annie?!" She heard a click, and the door opened a crack. Hermione's puffy, distraught face peeked out, then pulled her quickly inside.

"Hermione! What's wrong?"

"Oh, Annie!" she wailed and buried her face in a handful of tissues. A fresh round of sobs issued from her sister-in-law.

"Calm down, now, dear. Tell me what's happened." Annie put her arms around her, trying to soothe her.

Once Hermione finally gained some control, she began to speak. "Have you ever.... I mean, when you were... pregnant... did you ever... bleed?"

Annie closed her eyes as the air was involuntarily forced out of her lungs. Poor Hermione! Annie reckoned she understood what was wrong now. "How far along are you?" she whispered.

"Not long.... Only six weeks," Hermione choked out.

"And Ron...?"

"Doesn't know. I never told him.... I was going to wait until our anniversary..." she choked and began to cry anew.

Their wedding anniversary. About two weeks away, Annie calculated.

"Hermione... I'm not a doctor, you understand... but I'm afraid that if you're bleeding... heavily... that it's not a good sign," Annie spoke as gently as she could. "Do you want to see someone else, to be sure?"

"I think I already knew," Hermione sniffed, shaking her head slowly. "You know me; as soon as I found out, I began reading every book there was about it. They all said that... loss... was more common than most people knew. And when it happens so early, it usually means... there was something really wrong... with the baby...." And with that she lost control once more.

Annie held Hermione as they sat together on the edge of the bathtub, rocking her gently back and forth, allowing her to grieve. They cried together over the loss of the little life that never really started. It brought back the fear - no, abject terror, she corrected herself - Annie had felt when she was worried about losing little Georgeanna so recently.

Annie brushed Hermione's hair back, turning her head up to face her own. "Listen to me, Hermione. I've read those books, too. And they all say just because this happened once, doesn't mean you can't have a perfectly healthy baby next time. I know you must be hurting horribly right now, but don't give up hope. Promise me?"

Hermione nodded mutely, hugging herself tightly.

"Now, the best thing for you, I think, is to lie down for a while. Get some rest - till it's over. Can I get you anything?"

Hermione shook her head and stood up. Annie led her into her bedroom, and tucked her gently into bed.

"Hermione, dear - Ron really needs to know what's going on. He's worried sick about you right now," Annie said. "Are you ready... to tell him? Or would you prefer it if someone else does?"

"Would you? I'm not sure I can...." Hermione squeezed her eyes closed and tears rolled out once more from under her eyelids.

Annie kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She had figured as much. "I'll send him up in a minute, okay?"

Annie walked down the stairs to find George and Ron silently glaring at each other from across the dining table that used to sit in her Gran's kitchen. That is, she imagined Ron was glaring, since his back was toward her. One look at Annie's face, though, and George changed his expression. Genuine concern replaced every trace of irritation in an instant.

"Ron..." she said softly, not sure how to begin. Perhaps a direct route was the best, in a time like this. She looked into his perplexed face. "First... Hermione is going to be all right, okay? But right now, she's... having a miscarriage."

It was so hard to say the words - she could only imagine how hard it was for him to hear them. Ron stared at her in utter confusion, shaking his head. "But that's impossible. She's not..."

"She was... she just hadn't told you, yet. I'm so sorry, Ron."

Ron's face began to screw itself up in pain as the realization finally began to register. Annie patted his broad shoulders as he stared at the table in front of him, and tears began to silently roll down his cheeks.

"I know it hurts, Ron... but Hermione needs you, right now, to be with her. You need to grieve together, to comfort each other. Go on up to her," Annie urged.

Ron nodded, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hands. The chair made a horrible scraping noise in the silence of the flat as he rose from the table and began to trudge upstairs.

"Ah, Annie. This is awful. Poor kids..." George muttered when Ron was out of earshot. He hid his face in his hands for a moment, sighing deeply.

"Come on, let's leave them alone for now. We'll check on them tomorrow morning." Annie held out her hand, which George took, and they moved toward the fireplace.

"I feel like a real asshole," he sighed as they arrived moments later in their own home once again.

"It can't be that unfamiliar a feeling, now, can it?" she teased as she hugged him tightly. She was desperate for some way to lighten the horrible mood that had descended upon them.

"Ha ha ha, smartass," he answered sarcastically, but held her just as tightly anyway. "Don't wake Mum... I don't want to talk to her about this tonight," he whispered. They tiptoed up the stairs, still holding hands.

Annie let go at the top. "I have to go give every one of them a kiss, right now," she whispered, feeling an urgent need to hold each one of her children.

George nodded and followed her, lurking just inside the doorways, feeling the need to check on them as well. Both parents silently gave thanks for the five healthy little ones sleeping safely in their beds. The events of tonight reminded them just how precious, how miraculous each one of their children were.

Afterward, as they crept into their own bed, Annie reached out and held her husband's face in her hands. "We've been so lucky, haven't we?"

George wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. "Unbelievably so," he agreed as he kissed her forehead. "We're ridiculously lucky." George rolled onto his back and Annie rested her head on his chest.

"I guess it's their turn now, isn't it?" she said wistfully. "Ginny, and Hermione, and Audrey, I mean. It's their turn to have all the babies..."

"Don't be sad, love. Our family is perfect, just the way it is," he assured her, stroking her hair with his hand.

"I know.... But I can't help wishing. It's hard... to know there'll never be another new baby in our house again."

"You just finished saying how lucky we've been. You expect me to risk losing you for any reason?"

"You're right, of course. It's silly of me to be so selfish," she agreed, trying to be rational about it.

George had made it quite clear, in fact; another baby was completely out of the question. Just after Georgeanna had been born, and Annie lay weakened in the hospital bed, the doctor had warned them that she should never try to get pregnant again. The toll had been too great. And then, it had taken her so much longer to recover this time. They hadn't been home long at all before George had made the appointment.

The surgeon had certainly been perplexed to see a not-quite twenty-seven-year-old man and his young wife in his office, requesting a vasectomy. "Are you quite sure, young man? This is permanent, you understand, regardless of the nonsense you see in the movies."

George nodded solemnly. "We have five children, sir, and the doctors said the next one could kill her," he had said in a rough voice, swallowing hard. It nearly wrecked her, to see him so upset.

"Well, I guess I can't argue with that, now, can I? Very well then, come back next Friday morning for the procedure."

It had broken her heart, just a little, to give it all up. It was the closest thing to a calling she had ever felt. A happier, lovelier purpose in life she couldn't imagine. Being pregnant felt wonderful to Annie; feeling the little life inside as it grew, watching George smile with anticipation as he would kiss and stroke her swelling belly. She already missed it desperately. Perhaps it was just because it was still so soon after the last baby?

So soon, in fact, that tonight had been their first attempt at sex in months, since before all the trouble began, before Georgeanna was born. Annie had finally been declared completely recovered from the traumatic birth, and George's test results had come back that very afternoon - he was officially sterile. Annie had nearly teared up with the news, but refused to make it worse by letting him see her cry about it.

And then Ron had burst through their fire. He certainly had a talent for interruption, she thought, recalling at least five other times over the years. Not that she begrudged him tonight, of all nights. It was just... frustratingly bad timing.

Oh well, she thought with a sigh. There was always tomorrow night.

"You still awake?" he whispered.

Annie nodded.

"Mind if we pick up where we left off earlier?" he asked her, lifting her face toward his for a kiss. "It has been an awfully long time...."

*

Annie glanced up from her uncomfortable position, bent over the sink, when she heard flames flaring in the fireplace. Her husband's arrival at home was now imminent, which meant her time was up.

"Thanks anyway, Winky," she said with a sigh.

"Sorry, Miss. I is not knowing anything else to try," the little elf replied, clearly disappointed that she was unable to solve the problem.

Annie began speaking as soon as George emerged from the unnatural green fire. "Now don't get upset, George," she called out.

"What in the hell happened to you?!" he cried out, eyes growing large, striding rapidly across the room, tossing his work robe onto the sofa instead of hanging it up in his haste to reach her.

"Let me repeat: do not get upset. They didn't mean any harm...."

"Arthur! Fred!" he shouted angrily up the stairs, knowing exactly who she meant by they.

"I've already dealt with them," she told him, but was ignored.

"NOW!"

The tops of two curly red heads were just visible over the balcony wall as they slowly made their way to the staircase. Their dejected and remorseful faces did work to help cool their father's wrath somewhat.

"Explain yourselves," he asked in a much calmer voice, once they stood before him.

"Well, we were just reading one of your old spell books, Dad," offered Art.

"Which will now be off limits to the both of you," George interrupted. "Continue...."

"And we saw one that gave us an idea," admitted Fred after being nudged roughly by his brother.

"So you were inspired to turn your mother's hair orange?" he cried in disbelief, his anger flaring again.

"Not orange, exactly. We thought it would look more like ours," explained Fred.

"See, Merrie was saying..." Art began.

"You're trying to blame your little sister for this now?" George interrupted again, incredulous.

"Let them explain, love," Annie said calmly, taking George's hand, hoping to be more successful reining him in. There was a time not long ago when he would have been laughing hysterically at her predicament. The recent stress was getting to him, impacting even his sense of humor. She hoped it wasn't permanent.

"Fine. Go on," he said, looking sternly at his sons.

"Merrie was saying how she thought maybe Mum might be sad sometimes," Art began once more.

"Feeling a bit left out," added Fred.

"Since she's the only one without red hair like all of us, Dad," Art finished.

"So you expect me to believe you did this out of the kindness of your hearts?" he asked them, shaking his head.

"That's exactly what happened, love," Annie said. She squeezed his hand. "Merrie already confirmed it."

George closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Annie nearly giggled out loud: he looked so much like his father Arthur must have, preparing to punish George and his own twin brother for any number of infractions.

"Go get the book and show me the spell," he said softly. He watched his sons as they trudged back up the stairs to fetch the book. He turned to the house elf peeking around the corner of the kitchen counter timidly. "Thank you for trying to help, Winky. What have you tried so far?"

"It won't wash out," Annie said glumly.

"Not even with Mrs. Skowers, sir," Winky added tremulously.

George sighed. "That doesn't bode well, I'm afraid," he said, looking sympathetically at his wife.

Annie cracked a smile. "You have to admit, it is pretty funny."

George smiled grudgingly in response. "You do look ridiculous, yes," he said, pulling her into a hug. "Not to mention reek," he added, his eyes beginning to water from the smell now that her head was directly under his nose.

"That's the bleach, I'm afraid," Annie replied, stepping away from him and helping Winky with getting their dinner ready. "Don't be too hard on them, George. They really thought they were doing something nice for me," she urged again.

"I know they didn't mean any harm," he replied. "But that's not really the issue. Every one of us has to learn this lesson at some point."

Just then the twins returned, Merrie trailing them guiltily as well. They handed him the book, open to the correct page. It was worse than he thought - the spell book was his from third year. He shuddered to think what they might be capable of with wands.

"Do you see this symbol?" he asked, pointing to the page.

All three of the children nodded.

"Do you know what it means?"

They all shook their heads.

"It means no effective counter-spell has yet been discovered. Do you understand that?"

The boys hung their heads and nodded. George looked up at his wife and silently mouthed, Sorry.

Turning back to his children, he began to address them calmly, all anger dissipated now. "Look at me, boys. You too, Merrie," he said, looking down at his oldest daughter who had crawled up onto his lap. George spoke gravely. "You know that you are not allowed to do magic on purpose. Now, I blame myself for letting you get away with too much for too long. Clearly you haven't been taking the rule seriously enough. But no more. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Dad," the three of them mumbled contritely.

"Good. But the most important thing for you to understand is this: you must never put a spell on someone without asking."

"What about in an emergency, Dad?" asked Art.

"Yes, well - seeing that you're six years old, let's leave the emergencies to the adults, shall we?"

"Or if we're attacked? You can use spells to defend yourself, right Dad?" asked Fred.

Annie was biting her lips to keep from laughing. George was trying so hard at this. After all the time he had spent in life on the other side of these conversations, she knew it was quite galling to him to be the heavy now.

George sighed. "Are you anticipating any such thing, Fred? No, I don't imagine you are."

"Well, you shouldn't have said never, then," muttered Art.

"The point I'm trying to make Arthur, and Fred," he said sternly, looking both of them in the eyes in turn, "is this: do not... cast spells... on anyone... in this house. Especially if you don't know how to reverse them. Understood?"

"Yes, Dad," they said in unison once more.

"Now off - wash up for dinner."

Dinner time helped to lighten the mood considerably. Two-year-old Janie wouldn't stop laughing at "funny Mummy," and eventually her giggles spread throughout the table. By the end of the meal the twins were spouting off silly carrot jokes, making Merrie laugh so hard she got hiccups.

Later that night, after the children were in bed, George did what he could to try to help Annie. Several color-changing transfiguration attempts and a few generic reversal charms later, nothing had changed.

"It is rather impressive," Annie said, trying to cheer him, as he flipped through a potion book for ideas next.

"That's what worries me the most," he replied. "It's too impressive. They are six-year-old wandless children - they have no business being this powerful. It'll soon be too dangerous around here...."

"How can you say that?" she cried quietly. "They're sweet boys - they'd never do anything to hurt anyone," she argued.

"Not on purpose," he agreed. "Damn," he sighed, shutting the book noisily. "Nothing in here either."

"Oh, well. It's only hair. It'll grow back - won't it?"

"Hmm. That's not a bad idea, actually. I think I remember some sort of hair-growing spell..." he mumbled, flipping through yet another book. "Yes!" he cried in triumph. "Shall we give it a go?"

Annie nodded. "Ready," she answered.

She gasped in pain as it suddenly felt like she was hanging in midair by her hair, every strand being pulled out of her scalp at once. Even clutching the vanity for support, she sank to the floor as her knees buckled. She closed her eyes, afraid to see what a gory mess she must look like.

George gasped a swear word and quickly halted the spell. "I swear I didn't know it would hurt you!" he cried, lifting her up off the bathroom floor and setting her down on the bed in the next room. "The bloody book didn't mention it!"

"It's okay," she gasped, gingerly reaching up to touch her scalp. It felt normal - still attached to her skull, at any rate, and the burning pain was receding quickly. "Probably just my stupid, tender head. Did it work?"

"A little," he said ruefully. "You've got about an inch, maybe two, of your normal hair now," he said, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Annie smiled to reassure him there was no lasting harm. "That'll have to do, then. Go get the scissors - take the rest of it off," she said with a sigh.

George asked her several more times if this is what she really wanted, nervously holding the scissors. Each time Annie confirmed her decision, eager for the horrible hair to go. "Are you going to help me or do I have to do it myself?" she finally said, getting aggravated.

Annie watched as the pile of garishly orange hair grew on the bathroom floor in front of her. George took his time, careful to snip only what was necessary, and tenderly avoided pulling any of her curls.

"Done," he announced after nearly ten minutes. "Want to see?"

"Not really. I'm sure you did the best you could," she said nervously, gathering up the clown-like curly orange hair and throwing it in the garbage.

George gave her a hug and kissed her forehead. He stroked her head gently, running his fingers through her cropped hair. "It's actually quite... cute. It sort of sticks out in all directions now. I like it," he declared, only a slight amount of surprise in his voice.

"Don't patronize me - I don't need your pity," she half-teased him. She was touched that he would put out so much of an effort to make her feel better, though.

"You haven't got it. I'm serious," he protested, holding her chin and pulling her face up to him. He kissed her. "More than cute... sexy even," he whispered, leading her into their bedroom.

"You're just desperate," she teased, following him.

"You might be right. We do have five months of doing without to make up for..." he said before he kissed her once more.