George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 49: Detente

October 31, 2005

Mole Hill was abuzz with activity. A herd of happy children ran into, out of, through and around the house like a flock of noisy sparrows. Weasleys by birth, marriage or acclamation were scattered throughout the house and environs, chatting and laughing. Fully two dozen people had arrived just after lunch to celebrate the Weasley twins' seventh birthday.

Toys were scattered across the garden lawn and paved driveway: scooters, tricycles, bicycles, toy brooms, quaffles and a soccer ball were casually discarded and then picked up again by children at random. But by far the most eagerly anticipated, the most popular items present were Arthur's and Fred's new wands. Every other child came to gather around the boys, clamoring to get a peek at them.

"What's it made of, Art?" whispered his awestruck cousin, Victoire.

"Hazel, with core of unicorn tail hair," he announced proudly. His audience nodded in appreciation. A couple of 'ahhs' escaped from the youngest children who could not contain their envy more appropriately.

"What about yours, Fred?" asked Roxy Jordan.

"Hazel as well, but with phoenix feather core instead," he explained in a rather professional tone of voice for a seven-year-old.

"Ooh! Can I hold it?" asked his cousin Domi with bated breath.

Both boys looked up immediately, searching for sign of a parent nearby, tempted by the chance to show off a bit. They noted with disappointment that their father was currently staring straight at them from across the lawn. "Sorry, but Dad and Mum say we aren't allowed to let anyone else touch them," they explained in unison, with loud, clear voices for their father's benefit.

"Come on, Ted. Let's get some muggle soda," said Art, carefully sheathing his wand back into its pocket. His brother followed suit, and the three boys dashed away, into the house.

"They're so lucky to get to go to Hogwarts," sighed Domi as the girls wandered off together to daydream about what their turn would be like.

"Hello, boys," their mother greeted them as the twins and their best friend careened into the kitchen, nearly crashing into her. Annie, Molly and Winky were busy setting out snacks, drinks and trick sweets (a special treat at Mole Hill, for George rarely brought these particular Wheezes home with him, per Winky's request). "Remember to only eat the Fainting Fancies on the grass - I'm not taking any of you to the emergency room tonight!" she shouted after them as they tore back outside with soda cans and fists full of candies.

"Okay, Mum," they replied, voices fading fast as they ran off into the distance.

Ginny and Fleur were seated on the chairs in front of the fireplace, keeping an eye on the youngest members of the clan. Little James Potter, only a month younger than Joey, sat next to her on a blanket on the floor. They cooed and giggled at each other, smiling and drooling.

"Ooh, he has such lovely eyes," gushed Fleur.

"Yeah, they're green, just like Harry's," said Ginny with a pleased smile.

"Hopefully they will not be hidden behind horrible glasses, no?" Fleur added.

Ginny looked at her sister-in-law with consternation. "What's wrong with Harry's glasses?" she asked defensively.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, of course," backpedaled Fleur. "Oh! I think I hear mon Louis crying outside.... Do you mind watching them both, Ginny?"

"Of course not, Fleur," Ginny replied testily. As soon as Fleur was out of earshot, Ginny sighed deeply and sank low in the chair. "Ugh," she muttered, pretending it was for her own benefit.

Annie giggled. She could admit that Fleur was not the easiest person to get along with, but Ginny barely contained her dislike for her sister-in-law. "I will never understand what Bill sees in her," Ginny would mutter to anyone who would listen whenever the subject came up.

"Don't you start," warned Molly, finishing up with setting out a large plate of various cheeses.

"She started it!" whined Ginny.

"You could give her a chance, you know," scolded her mother. "She's not so bad...."

Ginny snorted. "Just because you've brainwashed everyone else..." she mumbled. After a few moments passed, Ginny spoke again. "What's that revolting smell?"

"I don't smell anything," Molly replied. "Is it the cheese, d'you think?" she asked, sniffing the plate.

"Does Joey need changing?" asked Annie, starting to make her way toward the babies.

"No, it's not that," answered Ginny quietly, swallowing hard.

Annie looked carefully at her sister-in-law. "You don't look so good, Ginny," she said worriedly.

"I don't feel so good, all the sudden," whispered Ginny. "Do you mind...?" she said, waving her hand toward the babies on the blanket.

"Go ahead," Annie urged.

Ginny got up and walked quickly into the bathroom. While she was gone, Molly walked over to where Annie was seated on the floor, and took a seat on the sofa. Annie gave her a questioning look, wondering if Molly was thinking the same thing she was. Molly returned her gaze with a suspicious smirk.

"Hope it's not catching, whatever's making her ill," said Annie with a smile.

"Let's just say I don't think it's something she ate, at any rate," Molly replied with a laugh.

About half an hour after Ginny returned from the bathroom, Ron poked his head into the house. "We're all heading out to the orchard for a match...."

"Okay, thanks, Ron. Tell George I'll follow out once I get the breadsticks out of the oven," she called back.

"Hang on, Ron. I'm coming," Ginny said, hopping up out of the chair. "Would you mind bringing Jamie with you, Mum?" she asked.

"Of course not, dear," replied Molly, delighted with the prospect of more time spent cuddling with her newest grandbaby.

"You're feeling that much better, then?" asked Annie wickedly, winking at Molly.

"Must have been a passing thing," Ginny replied nonchalantly, fooling no one.

A few minutes later, Winky offered to stay at the Hill, to finish baking the next batch of breadsticks so Annie and Molly could go see the match.

"Are you sure, Winky? I hate to think of you doing all the work here by yourself," asked Annie.

"Oh yes, Miss. I... I'd rather not go..." she stammered.

Annie nodded, understanding what Winky meant. The little elf had a great dislike for quidditch, and for good reason. Her previously happy life had been destroyed by it, according to her. Annie could empathize, being somewhat on the fence about it, herself.

"All right then, Winky. We'll see you back here in a little while," Annie said with a sympathetic smile. She gathered up little Joey, loading her into the ever-present sling, and headed out toward the makeshift quidditch pitch with her nephew and mother-in-law, chatting amiably.

Annie halted as she approached the open paddock area surrounded by apple trees. What she saw in the sky sucked the breath out of her body, made her heart race, and every muscle in her body tensed for battle.

"That son of a bitch," she whispered under her breath. "No offense, Molly...."

"None taken, dear," her mother-in-law assured her, just as shocked as Annie was by the sight.

George was standing in the grassy paddock, surrounded by his brothers Bill and Ron, his brother-in-law Harry, and his mate Lee. He was beaming with pride as he watched his sons and oldest daughter zipping around on brooms in the air above him. He couldn't help it: whenever he felt this happy, he had to share it. And the only way he knew how to share it was to take the mickey out of somebody else.

George of course had picked up the slack over the years, now that the role of Weasley Court Jester fell squarely upon his solo shoulders. No one was exempt, almost no topic off-limits. He pondered for a moment, weighing his options. Which of his companions would be his target du jour? Ron was too easy: the entire family teased him for being clueless, uncoordinated and whiney. And Harry was no fun anymore: he had learned to stop reacting to all the "world's greatest hero" jabs soon after he married Ginny. George couldn't think of anything to tease Lee about at the moment, so that left the old standby: Bill.

Not long after Bill had been attacked by the werewolf, once it seemed clear that he wasn't going to become one himself, Fred and George had begun teasing him about being a dog. At first, it nearly drove their mother into conniption fits. But over the years, the furor had died down a bit - thankfully not to the point of the joke not being funny anymore, George thought with relief. Consequently, Bill had endured countless jibes about flea collars, leashes, dog bowls full of his food being served on the floor, chew toys, getting swatted with rolled up newspapers, and the like. George even spent a year refusing to call his elder brother by his name, instead referring to him as "Fetch."

"So, I'm dying to know," George said with a glint in his eye and a smile in his voice, as he sidled up next to his brother. "What does it feel like to lick your own balls?"

"You're about to find out," snarled Bill, lashing out at George, who ducked out of reach just in time. The rest of the group exploded in howls of laughter.

"What is that?" a furious voice cried out from the far side of the paddock, near the forest line.

"Ah, shit," George muttered under his breath as he spun around to see his wife marching into the open area, building quickly into a towering rage. Joey was peeking out from behind the sling, bouncing roughly with her mother's brisk pace.

"Now you get yours, little prick," muttered Bill, a satisfied smirk on his face.

A moment later, Annie was standing toe to toe with George, her eyes glaring up at him with violet fury. "What is our four-year-old daughter doing on YOUR OLD BROOM?" she said angrily through her clenched teeth, futilely trying to avoid making even more of a scene than she already had done. Everyone in the clearing was ducking their heads slightly, as if attempting to shrink out of sight.

"Almost five," he said defensively. "And she's flying, obviously. Isn't she great?" he asked with exaggeratedly cheerful positivity. It was true: Merrie was a born flyer, already better at it than her older brothers. George had been sneaking behind Annie's back for most of the summer, giving the three oldest kids flying lessons.

Luckily, their children had not noticed their parents having another row. They were oblivious, having too much fun in the air or playing with cousins on the ground. Joey was giggling at the spectacle above her.

"I thought we agreed that seven was the minimum age for flying?" she said, setting her hands on her hips. That had been the whole point of giving the twins their first brooms as birthday gifts earlier this morning, after all.

"Did we?" he asked with mock innocence. He glanced around at his brothers and sister, all looking distinctly uncomfortable at having to witness yet another argument from what used to be the idyllic couple of the family. Things had been a bit hairy around Mole Hill for several months now, and everyone was hoping the argumentative phase he and Annie had entered would be over soon. And it was, for the most part.... This was just a minor scuffle, compared to earlier in the year.

"Don't pull that shit with me, George. What were you thinking? Never mind - don't answer that. It is painfully clear you were not thinking at all." Annie's chest was heaving with the deep breaths she was pulling in, desperately trying to regain control.

"Annie, will you stop your tantrum long enough to really watch her? She's brilliant - the best I've ever seen," he said softly in a conciliatory voice. His tone told her he didn't want another fight any more than she did.

"And that matters how?" she retorted, but he could hear her voice was softening.

"You know, I've been made to understand that being overprotective and overbearing is not a good thing," he said with a smile.

Annie worked hard to disguise her smile as a smirk. Throwing her own words back at her had the desired effect, and George silently congratulated himself for diffusing the situation so quickly.

"Have you forgotten how dangerous it is on one of those things?" she said, unwilling to give in quite so easily.

George rolled his eyes. "It's hardly that dangerous...."

"I fell off, remember?" she cried, but without anger now, and waved her arms in exasperation. George noted that several members of the gallery now had looks of surprise on their faces as they leaped to the obvious conclusion: that he had taken Annie flying before. Bill and Ron failed to smother their knowing smiles, eyes sparkling with the anticipation of making George pay for the revelation.

"Actually, you jumped off in midair, if you'll recall..." he replied with a smile, shouting it so everyone could hear. Let them make of that what they will, he thought.

"Which is exactly my point! I've been known to make a few stupid decisions," she countered, yelling herself, waving the finger wearing her wedding band under his nose and barely avoiding giggling as she did it. They were putting on a show now, for the benefit of his family.

"Yeah, well, Merrie's a lot smarter than you are, love..." he teased her.

"She's smarter than the two of us put together, darling," she said, playing along.

"I couldn't agree more! Now, will you calm down and just watch her before you embarrass yourself any further?" he said, laughing and putting his arm around her, patting Joey on the head. The entire family breathed an almost audible sigh of relief.

"George - I still don't like it. This game is bloody dangerous..." she said anxiously a few moments later, watching her daughter and twin sons zooming through the air as their Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry kicked off the ground to join them. He noticed she was absentmindedly rubbing her right forearm, like she always did for some unknown reason, whenever she watched a quidditch match.

"Hmm... I wouldn't know how that feels: living with a compromise," he said softly into her ear.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Hardly. If I was clever I wouldn't have just gotten caught."

"Promise me she won't get hurt! Make sure she only does it with you around," she pleaded, serious for a moment.

"I've already made her swear. And you know Merrie - she'd eat slugs rather than break a promise," he assured her.

Just then, Janie bounded up to her parents. "I want to fly too, Daddy!" she cried with a toddler's lisp.

George gathered his little daughter in one arm, his wife in the other. "Sorry, honey. Mummy would viciously remove an important part of Daddy's body if he let you on a broom," he said for Annie's benefit. Then he whispered into Janie's ear, "Maybe next year," and kissed her on the cheek.

George set his daughter back down as his father walked to the center of the pitch. "All right everyone - mount your brooms!" Arthur cried, holding a quaffle in one hand. Merrie dutifully landed and passed the broom back to George as a group of adults took off into the sky. She watched her own father launch into the air, then ran back to stand by her mother's side, beaming with self-satisfied pride.

"Let's have a clean match this time, shall we? This means you, George and Ron! All right then... ready? GO!" He tossed the ball high into the air and released the snitch.

Annie spent most of the match explaining the basics of quidditch to her friends Jane and Alec, who of course had never heard of the popular wizarding sport before, and predictably stood gobsmacked watching eight people flying around on brooms. It was a highly modified version, of course; played with the quaffle and snitch only, and taking into account that seven-year-olds were attempting to compete with adults. George and Angelina played the chaser positions with the twins, gently tossing the ball to the boys, flying slowly alongside them, while Bill and Ron were particularly inept keepers, truly defending the goals only when an adult made an attempt at them. Harry and Ginny, as the seekers, were the only ones taking the match seriously, flying at blinding speeds and daring heights in pursuit of the snitch. The match concluded when Ginny landed, beaming, with the golden ball held aloft in her hand.

"I let you win," Harry cried, smiling at her as he landed next to her.

"Like hell you did," she cried back. "You're rusty, old man," she teased.

Once the match was finished, George discreetly apparated with Ron and Harry to the family's favorite pizza place in Exeter. He led them down the deserted alley and around the corner to collect the dozen pizzas Annie had just ordered by phone. The twins had been allowed to choose what food was served at their birthday celebration, and muggle pizza (their term) was their current favorite.

They had several minutes to spare, so they bought a round of pints and sat at a table, chatting.

"So, not much longer now, eh Ron?" asked George.

"Fingers crossed, man. Just keeping fingers crossed," his brother responded guardedly.

George squeezed Ron's shoulder, nodding. "I hear you, bro. We're all pulling for you and Hermione," he said.

Ron nodded, mutely accepting his brother's good wishes. By some stroke of fortune, right after the tragedy of the spring, Hermione had gotten pregnant once more. She was well into her second trimester now, feeling strong and by all the doctors' and healers' opinions, the baby was doing fine.

"Odds are good, though, at this point," offered Harry, hoping to cheer his friend.

"Yeah. Good odds," Ron agreed, sighing deeply. "Joey's doing well, isn't she?" he offered, hoping to lead the subject away from the pending birth of his own child.

"Brilliant, yeah. You'd never know..." George replied, smiling slightly and shaking his head slowly. There had been far too much trauma to go around this year, in his opinion.

"And James - he's enormous!" laughed Ron. "No one would've ever predicted your son would be so big, Harry," he teased.

"Shut up, Ron," retorted Harry. His brothers-in-law never seemed to tire of making fun of his only very slightly shorter stature.

"Must be the Weasley genes," added George, piling on the abuse.

"Sod off, the both of you," Harry said, grinning.

"Touchy," laughed George.

"Ginny sure bounced back quick," commented Ron. "She was back on the team in what, six weeks? Talk about superior Weasley genes..."

Harry chuckled. "More like eight, but yeah, she did recover really quickly." He was unable to quash a bashful smile, and a faint blush spread across his face.

"What's that all about?" teased Ron with a laugh, noticing his friend's reaction.

"Nothing," protested Harry, yet strangely giggling in his odd, nervous manner.

George's eyes grew large as he instantly guessed the source of Harry's discomfort. "No way! You're joking!"

"What?" cried Ron, still clueless.

George shook his head in disbelief. "Remind me someday to share a little muggle secret about that with you," he taunted. Eight months! he mouthed silently, astounded by the math. James was only eight months old!

"Please drop it," begged Harry, yet smiling somewhat proudly all the same.

"What are you lot on about?" Ron whined. "Will one of you explain what's so funny?"

"Go on, Harry. Explain it to your stupid best friend," laughed George, leaning back in his chair, preparing to be entertained.

Harry sighed, squirming in the chair. "Well...Ginny said she wanted to try for another one right away," he explained, keeping his eyes glued to the fascinating bubbles in his beer.

Ron punched his friend in the arm as the realization hit him. "I don't believe you. And we joked about George and Annie being rabbits!" Ron cried.

"Ow," moaned Harry, rubbing his arm.

"Rabbits!?" cried George, punching his brother in the arm.

"Ow," complained Ron, rubbing his arm.

Harry laughed. "You've still got everyone beat in quantity, George," he teased, kicking him lightly under the table.

"Too right," he laughed, nodding once. "Still the stud of the family, me," he added with a wink, daring them to argue.

"Which is easy when you produce children by the litter," mumbled Ron.

"Come again, Ron?" asked George, brandishing his fist for another jab.

"Nothing, George. Cheers!" he said with a smile, raising his glass.

"Cheers!" echoed George and Harry, clinking their glasses.