George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 51: Mystery

June 2009

Age 31

It was a Friday, nearly noon, as Annie and her family strolled down a grassy aisle between two long rows of cars. Her husband and twin sons had chosen today's activity: a car show, held in a large open field near Plymouth on this warm summer day. The family was roaming between the rows, chatting with the different car owners, marveling at the custom details and hard work each one displayed.

The children were thrilled to be out and about on an adventure in the muggle world. As they had grown older, George and Annie trusted them more, and were taking them around on short trips more often. They had always behaved beautifully, or at least not completely exposed the family, and today was proving to be no exception.

Little Joey was on her usual perch - on Daddy's shoulders - having finally outgrown the sling. Merrie and Janie were alternately being drug along to the next fascinating vehicle or engine by their older brothers, or taking a brief respite by standing in a quieter spot next to Mum. At the moment, Fred was lifting Janie up so she could see inside a fancy red race car, and Merrie was leaning against her hip while Annie soothingly rubbed her back between her shoulders.

"Shall we go find a place for our picnic?" Annie asked her daughter softly.

Merrie looked up at her with a gap-toothed smile, nodding.

"All right then, you go tell Daddy and the boys their time is up," she directed, and Merrie skipped off enthusiastically on her errand.

"Ho-ly shit! Annie Goddamn Jones!" shouted a voice from beside her.

Annie was startled, not to mention grateful her daughter was out of earshot. She turned to see who it was accosting her. It took her several seconds to put a name to the vaguely familiar, smiling face of the man who was waving to her, just a few feet away.

"Mike...?" she asked, testing her memory. The name had been buried deeply...

"Mike Preston, yeah! We went to school together - you remember?" he asked, blinking at her.

"Right. Sure, I remember. Mike Preston. How are you?"

"I'm well, yeah. And you?" he asked, more enthusiastically than she.

At that moment, Merrie and Janie bounded up to her. "Let's go find a shady spot, Mum," cried Janie. Both girls grabbed one of her hands and began tugging her away.

"Hang on just a moment, girls," she said softly. "I'm well, thanks, Mike," she said, offering a smile for a long-lost schoolmate.

"Annie Goddamn Jones," he muttered again, shaking his head, apparently astounded.

George and the rest of her children had caught up with her then. Her husband laced his fingers into her free hand, sensing something out of the ordinary was happening. Perhaps he had overheard Mike's profane exclamations, she thought.

"Annie Weasley now, actually," she informed him. "This is my family, Mike. My husband, George; and this is Art, Fred, Merrie, Janie and Joey," she said, introducing everyone. Mike shook George's proffered hand, and they exchanged the usual brief pleasantries.

"Stephen is going to flip when I tell him I've seen you," he said, beginning to look around him.

Annie swallowed at the mention of the name from her past - felt her palms sweat and blood pressure rise - and immediately berated herself for it. How could someone like him still affect her peace of mind, after so many years? It was ridiculous for her to react so....

"You still see Stephen, then?" she forced herself to ask politely.

"Oh, yeah. We've still got the band, see. We're playing here this afternoon. You have to come see us," he said, beginning to wave at someone behind her, as if summoning them.

"I don't know, Mike. We'll see how the kids are faring later..." she offered with no intention of committing to any such thing. "Say hello to Stephen for me," she said for the sake of politeness, beginning to take her leave.

"You can tell him yourself, in just a second," Mike said with a smile, casually holding out his arm to prevent her from walking away. "Hey Stephen, look who I found!" he called out.

"Annie Jones..." said Stephen Drake. He walked around her from behind, then stood boldly in front of her, smiling, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Annie Weasley," she corrected him, forcing herself to politely return his smile. It was probably ridiculous to expect him to remember the fact - that she and George were married. After all, it had been ten years ago now since she had seen him last and told him so... if he had even been listening to a word she had said that day.

"And company," he added, gesturing to her family with one hand now pulled out of a pocket. He shook hands then with George. "We met before," Stephen said to her husband.

"I remember," George replied, keeping his voice perfectly pleasant. Annie wondered if he did indeed remember meeting Stephen in the pub in Ottery so long ago, or if he was also just being polite.

"No doubt who these all belong to, then," he said, nodding toward the collection of her red-headed children gathered around them.

Annie's eyes narrowed, then rolled. She really didn't believe Stephen intended anything malicious by the comment. It was just a nasty habit of his: saying things without thinking. She noticed George glanced at her in consternation as well, and she shook her head slightly, dismissing the comment.

"You look good, Annie," Stephen offered. "Married life suits you well, it seems."

"Thanks. Never been happier," she replied. "Is Shelley here with you as well?" she asked, referring to his current wife, according to a grocery cashier she had spoken with sometime last year.

"Nah... we're separated now," he said, grimacing slightly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Annie said, sincerely.

"That makes me naught-for-two," he added grimly. "Mike says I'm a serial monogamist, whatever the hell that is."

"The next one, mate. She'll be the one," Mike said, cheerfully.

"Are you staying for the show later?" asked Stephen.

"We'll see," said George, and Annie squeezed his hand in thanks for bailing her out. "We've been here for a while now, and the little ones are getting tired," he added, as an excuse.

"Well, it was great seeing you, anyway," Stephen said by way of goodbye.

Annie nodded. "Take care, you two," she said as she was finally drug off by her daughters.

"Did you know those muggle fellows, Mum?" asked Janie once they were several yards away.

"A long time ago, yes."

"Did they go to muggle school with you, then?" asked Merrie.

"Yes."

"What do muggles study in school, Mum, instead of magic?" asked Fred.

"Lots of things, love," she answered, somewhat at a loss to explain the British public school system and its curriculum.

"Muggles have a magic of their own that they study, boys," George offered. "It's called technology," he said.

"Like machines?" asked Art, perking up with interest.

"Yep, like machines. Brilliantly clever people, muggles. They've figured out loads of cool things," George explained. "Did you know they've even been to the moon?"

*

"I think I'll take the bike out today, have a little spin," George said in passing at the breakfast table the next morning. "Four more bites, Joey - then you can leave the table...."

"Ooh, sounds nice. Winky and I are planning to put up some strawberry jam this morning. Please move your glass of milk away from the edge of the table, Janie...."

"Would you rather I stay here and help out?" he offered.

"Not at all. Too many cooks and all that," she said, waving him off.

"Well, if you're sure," he said, giving her one more chance to tell him no. "Put your dish in the sink, Fred, if you're done...."

"Go," she told him.

"Want to come along?" he asked.

"Somebody has to pretend to be a responsible adult around here," she said absently while reading up on canning procedures from a cookbook opened in front of her. "I'll take the first shift today."

George chuckled. "Just make sure they're all asleep by the time my shift rolls around," he teased.

"Pfft!" was all she said.

George drove aimlessly around the countryside for nearly half an hour, weighing the pros and cons of the idea he was considering.

Running into that Stephen fellow yesterday was what started it all. Got him thinking about Annie, and her past. Remembering how she used to be, whenever they were so unfortunate as to meet anyone she went to school with in Ottery. Wondering why that was.

He hadn't seen that side of her in ages. But he had seen a flash of it again yesterday. Oh, it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be; that was for sure. Time had apparently healed quite a few of her old wounds. But the fact that something was still there, after all these years, nagged at him.

They had decided to stay for a little while after their picnic yesterday at the car show to listen to the fellow's band. They stood well back from the stage, near a side exit of the large tent venue. The band was decent, but limited to playing cover songs - nothing original. The kids danced around a little, burning off a bit of energy from their meal.

"They've gotten better, thank God," George joked.

"Well, they've had more than a decade to practice. I should hope so," Annie laughed.

"Not bad at all, actually," he commented as they performed a passable rendition of one of his and Annie's favorites. Took some balls to cover a U2 song, George reckoned. But it hardly compared to the real thing, he thought, remembering when he had taken Annie to see them for her birthday present a couple of years ago. Hell of a show, that one - Buenos Aires had been warm and beautiful that night. He smiled despite himself, remembering how pleased Annie had been; how she had expressed her gratitude....

"There was never any question Stephen had some talent," she agreed. He could see she had been trying hard to be even-minded, giving the fellow some credit where she thought it was due. "And now at last he's got some pretty good people with him."

"Doesn't sound like he's had much success with the groupie thing," George added, recalling how she had told him that had been one of the band's primary goals when it had formed. Annie had since filled him in on the details she had gleaned from her occasional - and only when absolutely unavoidable - trips into Ottery for errands. People there always assumed she cared what happened to these old schoolmates of hers. Apparently Stephen was soon going to be twice-divorced, leaving his three children to live with his ex-wives in different towns. What a sorry excuse for a man, George mused. Poor kids....

Annie had smirked and shrugged, as if to ask, what can you expect?

Then Stephen's band had begun playing another familiar song.

I've got another confession to make,

I'm your fool...*

At first George had thought nothing of it. Just another cover. But then he happened to glance over at his wife.

Annie was fuming. Absolutely livid. Refusing to look anywhere near the stage.

George had looked back at the band. Several times throughout the song, far more than could be explained by chance, Stephen had looked out into the crowd, directly at Annie. Every time he sang the refrain, in fact.

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?*

It might have been nothing. The song was about someone who had a very difficult time with love and a broken relationship. Stephen obviously had personal experience with such things. He sang the lyrics quite passionately, clearly acquainted with the pain expressed therein.

But the son of a bitch kept looking at his wife when he did. And it made her so mad she looked like she could breathe fire at any moment. Not to mention the fact that he himself - her husband, and their children - had been standing right next to her at the time.

George had been too astonished by the audacity of it to get angry himself. Plus, he figured Annie had been pissed enough for the both of them. They had left immediately, barely waiting until the song was over.

He had waited until they were alone that night to ask her about it. That had given her nearly six hours to calm down. Even so, she was still smoldering a bit when he brought it up.

"Trust me, George. It meant absolutely nothing," she had said. "Stephen Drake is an idiot who cannot help but say and do offensive things because he seldom employs his frontal lobe when speaking or making decisions."

"Then why are you so pissed off, if it was nothing?" he had asked, chuckling at her characterization of the fellow.

Annie had ground her teeth together. "Let's just say by this point, Stephen should know better than to try to serenade me," was all she said.

Thinking once more about the look on her face last night, George pulled off the road. He used his cell phone to dial for information, and asked for Stephen Drake's address.

Twenty minutes later, George drove slowly down the quiet street. He could see the house that was his goal this morning; see the fellow in front of it, bent over and working on his car. One moment more and there would be no chance to turn back.

Not that he was having any second thoughts. His curiosity had been piqued yesterday, being reminded of Annie's mysterious past. What had happened to her during those years, while he was gone away to school? What had made her so willing, even eager to leave the muggle world behind, joining him and never looking back? What was it that she was so reluctant to talk about?

He turned off the engine, parking across the street. Stephen turned his head to see what the disturbance was, taking in the unusual sight of a stranger on a side street in Ottery, apparently not by accident. George removed his helmet as he swung his leg off the motorcycle.

Stephen stood up then, clearly surprised to see Annie's husband, of all people, here in front of his house, and so soon after they had run in to each other just yesterday after more than a decade.

"Hey, George. What can I do for you?"

"Hello, Stephen. Fancy a pint?"

Stephen looked puzzled. He considered the offer for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, mate. I could do with a pint," he agreed, and began to wipe the engine grime off his hands.

They strolled together to a pub just a couple of blocks away, chatting pleasantly about nothing important. As they walked inside and George looked around, he realized that this was the very place he had met Stephen and his old band, nearly thirteen years ago. He hoped this meeting between them would not be nearly so tense.

"So what brings you to Ottery?"

George shrugged. "Wanted to have a bit of a chat with you, actually," he confessed.

Stephen looked alarmed. "Look, I don't know what you've heard, but I assure you, there's nothing going on between me and...."

George began laughing. How intriguing that his first reaction is to defend himself against a presumed charge of adultery. "Relax, Stephen. Honestly, that's the furthest thing from my mind," he said, still chuckling, as Stephen sighed in relief and visibly relaxed. "Annie has never given me any reason to question her faithfulness, I assure you." His wife was right, he mused: Stephen did have an unnatural habit of saying offensive things, apparently not on purpose.

"So what did you want to chat about, then?"

George hesitated for a moment, pondering how best to approach the subject. "I'm curious - how did you and Annie meet?" Perhaps beginning at the beginning would be best.

Stephen chuckled, but didn't really sound amused. "She never told you?"

"Not really. She doesn't talk about Ottery, or her school days, very much," George replied, guardedly.

Stephen snorted, taking a sip. "Not surprised. Why would she? She was miserable, for the most part."

"Why d'you say that?" George asked, figuring he might know at least part of the answer already.

Stephen took a deep breath, considering for a moment what to say. "It started with her mum. Carys Jones was just about the biggest scandal this little burg ever had. The golden girl gone bad, she was. Tongues wagged for a lot of years about that one. Annie took it real personal... used to beat the shit out of some kid or other, on just about a weekly basis, for making a comment about her crack whore mother," he said, chuckling.

George grunted as a memory of his own came to mind. "My brother and I saw her do it, once. We had to pull her off the kid - she went berserk. Would've killed all four of them, probably, if we hadn't stopped her," he said, shaking his head. Apparently, that hadn't been an isolated incident. Truth be told, he had long suspected something along these lines had happened. What was wrong with the people in this town, he wondered for the hundredth time, that they would punish a child - an orphan, no less - for her mother's sins in such a manner? Why didn't the parents, or the teachers, put a stop to it?

Stephen's face lit up with the recollection. "Yeah, I remember hearing about that one! That fat kid... Molloy something. He was pretty much the last one who ever brought her mother up to her face. Everybody kinda steered clear of her after that, considering the damage she did to that little prick. I reckon it wasn't much later when we met," he said.

"You didn't go to primary school with her, then?" George asked, somewhat surprised to learn this fact.

"Nah, me and my mum didn't move here until I was eleven. I met Annie in secondary school," Stephen explained. Then he began to laugh as he spoke. "She came pedalin' over to where we were ridin' the dirt bike one day at the bottom of Stoatshead Hill.... Tiny little thing she was, with a great big bad-ass attitude. She asked if she could have a ride. I dunno, I guess I felt sorry for her or somethin'. So I said, 'Sure, I'll give you a ride,' and then she says, 'No, I want to ride it by myself,' like I was some kind of idiot for thinkin' any different," he said, still laughing.

George smiled, remembering how Annie had written him about riding a dirt bike. It was just after he and Fred had left for Hogwarts the first time. She had had nothing else to do with him and his brother gone, he supposed, and had taken off in search of adventure. Stephen and his dirt bike were what she'd found.

"So you let her ride it?" he asked, knowing the answer but wanting to keep Stephen talking.

"Yeah. Pretty stupid, huh? By all rights, she should've broken her neck. It was like sittin' a six-year-old on it. But she looked so... determined. I guess I figured I couldn't say no. And I'll be damned if she didn't do it right her first try. Never once stalled the engine, or lost her balance, or anything," he mused.

"That's Annie for you," George offered, easily able to picture his wife on the little motorcycle.

"Yeah. That's Annie," he agreed. "She was a riot. She'd take any dare back then, didn't matter how stupid. I had to step in a few times; the other guys would let it get out of hand, sometimes."

"You stepped in?" George asked. That fact surprised him as well.

"Yeah," Stephen answered, picking up on the surprised tone and sounding slightly regretful. "Probably not as often as I should have, though. I suppose I fancied myself her protector, of a sort, for a while. She just seemed too... little for this world, or something. Used to resent the hell out of it, though: me steppin' in," he said, shaking his head with the memory.

George nodded slightly. This was becoming very informative, to be sure. Stephen took another drink. "So you like cars?" he asked.

George assumed he was referring to yesterday, and nodded. "My Dad used to tinker a lot on an old Anglia when I was a kid. I suppose I picked it up from him. Now my boys are into it, too. I guess you could say I find technology like that utterly fascinating," he replied.

"Right," said Stephen, drawing out the word and apparently finding George's comment amusing. "That explain the motorcycle, as well? That's a sweet machine you rode in on.... Triumph, right?"

George nodded once more, smiling. He couldn't resist poking the fellow a little bit. "It was a birthday gift, actually. From Annie."

It worked. Stephen's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Didn't know she was that well off," was his only comment.

"I reckon there's quite a bit about Annie that you don't know, mate," George said calmly. He wasn't trying to start something; just stating a fact.

Stephen nodded thoughtfully. "True. But then again, there's a good bit I do know, and that's why you're here," he parried.

"True," George conceded the point. "What did you lot do together, then, when you hung out?"

"Find trouble, primarily. My older brother was in and out of prison while I was growing up. Not exactly the best influence on us, as you can imagine. Probably some kind of miracle we all didn't end up in prison ourselves," he said ruefully.

"That also sounds like Annie," said George, laughing.

Stephen nodded. "A right little adrenaline junkie, she was. The only time I ever saw her smile, or look the slightest bit happy, was when we were pullin' off some stupid stunt or other. The rest of the time she just looked kinda depressed. Like she was lonely. Used to piss me off quite a bit, you know? I mean, what right did she have to feel lonely if she was hanging out with us all the time? Why weren't we good enough for her? And then she'd disappear all summer long; we'd never see any sign of her, even though she just lived right over the river. But she'd come strolling back to us as soon as school started. Never figured out why.... She refused to talk about whatever she did in the summertime."

"That was me. And my brother, as well. She hung out with us, when we came back from boarding school, for the summers," George explained, careful to keep the story straight, but still feeling it was important for Stephen to feel like the sharing of information was going both ways.

"Ah... that makes sense. I remember now that you said you knew her since you were kids.... So what was it that you lot did that was so great?" he asked, sounding a bit petulant.

George shrugged. The honest answer - that they treated her with respect and real friendship - would have been rude to the point of being harsh. And he certainly didn't want to go into the details of how the three of them would camp together, fueling the ridiculous assumptions most people in this town had about his wife as a young teenager. "Dunno. Just hung out, mostly," he offered.

Stephen grimaced anyway. "Well, that puts me in my place," he said, snorting. "I suppose I deserved it," he added, his voice dripping with regret.

"How d'you mean?" George asked, sounding as casual as he could. He suspected Stephen was about to tell him something very important, and possibly difficult to hear.

Stephen took another deep breath. "I told you Annie's trouble began with her mum. What I didn't tell you is that... well... it didn't end there. Annie had an unfortunate... reputation... for being...." He squirmed in his seat a bit, refusing to look George in the eye, and shrugged instead of completing the sentence.

George had known about Annie's reputation here in town for ages, of course. Since they were sixteen, in fact, when he had been utterly shocked by those girls in the park who had attacked Annie - called her a whore, of all things - she who had been so quick to punish the slightest bit of innuendo from either of them back then. What he didn't know was how it had arisen. And now, he began to understand, he was sitting face-to-face with the bastard that had given it to her. A person she at some point had considered to be her friend.

George felt no pity whatsoever for the discomfort of the man sitting across from him. But as furious as he was in that moment, he willfully forced himself to swallow the anger. He would not punish Stephen; it was not his place to do so. He would, however, force him to confess his sin out loud, looking Annie's husband in the face while he did it.

"What?" George said carefully.

Stephen looked him in the eye, realizing a confession was an unavoidable and mandatory part of his penance. He squared his jaw, preparing to speak. "Annie had a reputation for being a slut. There was a rumor that went around back in school... that she and I had sex. I didn't start it, but I know who did... and I didn't do anything to stop it. Truth be told, I probably encouraged it, at the time. It spread from there, like rumors do, and blew all out of proportion. I was stupid, and selfish, and what I did cost me any chance I had with her."

They sat in silence for a whole minute. George glared at Stephen, who kept his eyes trained on the table in front of them. When he did finally summon the courage to look at George in the eye, he quickly offered a protest in his defense. "I swear that it isn't true. She and I never..."

"I know it isn't true, asshole," George cut him off, keeping his voice soft and loaded with threat. He was utterly confident, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was the only man Annie had ever loved, had ever been intimate with. She knew that the same was true for him, as well. But the fact that this moron felt the need to reassure him, her husband, was an insult George was not inclined to overlook at the moment. George breathed deeply to summon control over the anger now boiling within him.

"Are you going to try to beat the shit out of me now?" asked Stephen, daring him to start a fight.

"I confess to being strongly tempted, yes," said George as calmly as he could, gripping the edge of the table. "But I won't, for two reasons. First: this matter is between you and Annie. She is fully capable of fighting her own battles with no help from me. She left things between the two of you the way they are for a reason, and I respect that.

"But fair warning to you," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper yet rang clear as a bell, "If she ever gave me the slightest invitation to participate on her behalf, you would be toast. Literally."

George paused to let that sink in. Stephen glared back at him like an indignant child being punished in public.

"Secondly, I have absolutely nothing whatsoever to prove to you. I'll admit to being curious about my wife's past, but let me set something straight: I am not threatened by anything in it. Annie left Ottery and every one of you far behind years ago now, and never looked back. She chose me."

Stephen smirked. "I suppose I deserved that, too," he said unconvincingly.

George and Stephen both took long drinks from their pints, nearly draining them. During the awkward silence afterward, George decided to risk asking one more question.

"You mentioned just now that you thought at one time you had a chance with her...?"

Stephen shrugged, attempting to downplay the confession. "Sure, I had a thing for her for a while. There was a time, yes, when I thought I had a chance... but I blew it. Over and over again, I blew it. You might even owe me a debt of gratitude, mate; I fucked it up so many times over," he said, smiling wryly.

George stared at him for a moment, and began to chuckle as well. As preposterous as the theory was, Stephen might have a point, he thought. After all, Annie spent quite a bit of time with this idiot as a teenager, while George had been trapped far away from her at school. If Stephen hadn't been his own worst enemy, maybe the tables would be turned?

Another thought suddenly occurred to him. "You were Annie's first kiss..." he wondered aloud, recalling that part of the conversation in the park when he and Annie were sixteen.

Stephen looked momentary stunned. "She told you that?" he exclaimed.

George shook his head. "Educated guess, actually. Were you?"

Stephen shrugged. "Dunno if I was the first; she never told me so. We did kiss, once. And what a fuckin' catastrophe that turned out to be," he said as he ran his fingers through his hair.

George snorted. Judging by this guy's track record, he could guess what had happened next. Pick the most stupid, most inappropriate, most self-destructive of the several possible scenarios, and he'd likely have a reasonable proximity of what had taken place.

"So, just to be clear, you don't harbor any feelings for Annie anymore?" he asked. It was more of an instruction, rather than a question. The "serenade" song from yesterday was beginning to take on new connotations for him now.

Stephen looked him in the eye, either sizing him up or debating whether or not to tell the truth. "Not really. Not anymore. Once you and she got together, and I could see how happy that made her, I realized whatever opportunity I might have had was gone. And she is happy - anyone can see that. Congratulations, mate - you won," he offered grudgingly.

George nodded to himself. "Thanks for your honesty," he said. "I appreciate it."

"Happy to help, and thanks for the pint. I should probably get going now, though," he said, rising to leave.

"Cheers," George said, remaining seated. He watched as Stephen left the pub, then remained sitting there for a while longer, reviewing all that he had learned from the interview. He looked out the window of the pub, gazing out at the houses and buildings lining the streets he could see from the corner, fantasizing once more about burning the place to the ground.

Who wouldn't want to run screaming from this place? From these people? Perhaps it was no wonder Annie had been so willing to risk life and limb to be with him, during a war that targeted relationships like theirs, rather than subject herself to Ottery. The citizenry obviously had no idea the treasure they had let slip through their fingers.

He gave Stephen a ten-minute head start, then left the pub himself. Stephen had wisely absented himself from his front yard by the time George got there. He climbed onto the bike and drove himself straight home.

He arrived at Mole Hill shortly before one p.m. He walked into the cool quiet of his home to find the children were gone, and it looked like Annie and Winky had just finished with the morning's work. Several rows of jars filled with dark red jam sat cooling on the counter. The house smelled intoxicating with the aroma of the strawberries now concentrated into thick, crimson ambrosia.

"Hey," she greeted him as he strolled into the kitchen. Annie was elbow deep in soap suds at the sink, scrubbing a large pot. She was barefoot and wearing old clothes for a messy job: cut-off shorts and a tie-dyed tank top that had been created for her by their children. The outfit was quintessential Annie, he mused: casual, whimsical, and practical.

"You missed lunch," she said, rinsing the pot and draining the sink.

George lifted her up onto the counter, bringing her to his eye level. "I'll make a sandwich later," he replied. "Where are the kids?"

"The boys are helping Grandpa install something this afternoon on the car they built; most likely some kind of enchantment or other, I didn't catch the name of it. Your Dad will probably get fined for it once they're caught," she added with a smile.

George returned the smile. "And the girls?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Left ten minutes ago for the swimming hole," she said, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Winky?" he mumbled against her neck.

"Right behind you," she whispered.

George dropped his shoulders in frustration, then turned to face the house elf. "Hello, Winky!" he said cheerfully with a smile that looked only slightly forced.

"Hello, Mr. George," she replied with a smile. "If it is all right with you, Miss, I is heading over to the school now to finish the weekend work there."

"Certainly, Winky," Annie answered in a friendly voice.

"Likely take all afternoon, it will, Miss," the elf added as she made her way out the back door. George could have sworn he heard a faint noise that sounded like an elfish version of a giggle.

Annie leaned across the counter toward the stove, reached out with one arm, and grabbed a half-full jar of jam with a spoon in it. "Here, have a taste," she offered, spooning some jam into his mouth.

George closed his eyes and smiled, relishing the flavor. Strawberry jam was one of his favorite things in the world; this sample was still warm from the stove. Sweet, innocent, sunny - it was like tasting the essence of summer on his tongue.

And summer meant everything to George. Sure, a crisp, bright fall day spent walking through the woods lit up with colors like each tree had been painted by an artist: that was nice. He confessed that lying on the sofa with Annie in his arms, looking out across the frozen meadow, watching a winter snowfall decorate the grass and trees: that certainly was peaceful and lovely as well. He freely admitted that the sight of the apple orchard in spring bloom, the snowy-pink blossoms adorning each and every delicate twig: well, that was heart-breakingly beautiful, too.

But summer - with its promise of warm, dry, sunny days... lazy green weekends... long, drawn out sunsets - what else could compare? Every insect, plant, and animal - even a frozen and hibernating boy at Hogwarts - awoke and began to live once more in the summer sun. Breathing in the summer air, storing it up in his body, was what kept him going throughout the rest of the year.

George lived for summertime. He supposed it probably began during his school years, and no wonder. Summer had always meant home and happiness to him. Summer days held memories of sand and sea, of woods and earth, of homecoming, and real friendship.

Summer was heaven.

He opened his eyes to see his wife's smiling face.

"Any good?" she asked.

He nodded slightly, then held her face in his cupped hands. "I love you," he said, staring straight into her magnetic eyes.

"Prove it," she dared him.

* Lyrics from "Best of You" by Foo Fighters