George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 54: Empty Nest

Fall 2016

Age 38

Dear Mum & Dad,

Hello from Hogsmeade. Things are going well here for us. I've been working on a new charm that you'll be particularly interested in, Mum: it would have saved you a drastic haircut! But it really is a very intriguing theory, not all just fluff and vanity. Fred is making plans to travel to Equador with Professor Longbottom this winter during the holidays. I'm sure this is the first you're hearing of it because I know how well my brother does keeping in touch with anyone. He's been trying to teach himself Spanish in the meantime, so don't be surprised if you can't understand a word he's saying when you visit next month. Sometimes he doesn't realize which language he's speaking. When that happens, just say, "Habla Ingles, idiota!" and he'll switch.

At the moment I'm sitting in the stands here at the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, watching the Gryffindor team have tryouts. I don't know why Merrie even bothered (actually, yes I do: she's just trying to be fair as always, but it's still a pointless waste of time). It's not as if every position isn't already guaranteed. No one can touch Domi and Roxy as chasers, no one has the cojones (ask Fred what it means, it's his new favorite word) to take on Janie at keeper, and we all know Joey's a sure-bet for seeker. Not to mention the beaters have been the same two blokes for two years now. Ryan and Warren are decent fellows... I'm sure you'll be meeting Ryan Murphy when you visit this time.

All this is common knowledge, of course, and yet thirty-two male Gryffindors (apparently the girls have better reasoning skills) are here at the pitch as we speak, desperate to catch the eye of a Weasley lass (they are not picky as to which one) and impress her. Excepting, of course, our little cousin James - he's here to actually play quidditch, poor little squirt. He doesn't have a prayer... at least, not this year. But don't worry, I'm sure Merrie will let him down easy. And little Louis is probably thrilled to have the rest of the Gryffindor girls all to himself at the moment!

It's like the girls are part veela or something (and in Domi's case, a literal truth). A swarm of smitten boys follows them wherever they go, posturing and posing in front of them like peacocks. This is largely why I am here, in fact. My presence causes some anxiety for this herd of Romeos, and that's precisely my goal. They know I can pluck any one of them out of the sky at any moment, and so are on their best behavior.

Mum, I hope you're not going batty, bangin' around in that big, empty house. At least you have a bit of chaos during the day at the kiddie school to enjoy. Now that we're all out of the house, you should make Dad come up out of the dungeon once in a while and take you out someplace nice for dinner (you deserve it!). The both of you must be bored stiff without any of us at home.

Say hello to Winky for me. See you when you come up for the match... I'm sure it will be yet another perfect season for Gryffindor, and the Weasley Quidditch Dynasty will bring home the Cup once again. As they have for three years running. Oh well - if it can't be Ravenclaw's victory, I guess I'm glad it's a family one.

Love,

Art

Annie read through the letter from her eldest son once more. His handwriting was the polar opposite of his father's funny, crooked scrawl: every loop perfectly even, every line perfectly straight. She was glad to read about his life, and that he was willing to stay in touch with his mother, even at age seventeen. But for as intuitive and observant as Art could sometimes be, especially when it came to figuring out how things worked, she was grateful beyond words that he had no idea what the past month at Mole Hill had been like for his parents.

George had become like a man obsessed. His lifelong dream had just come true: they finally had the house completely to themselves. She had drawn the line at his Naked Week suggestion, but even so had never been more thankful that Winky had chosen to move into a room at the school now that Joey was gone. Annie strongly suspected George had bribed her somehow.

It was as embarrassing as it was wonderful: at age thirty-eight, they were behaving like sex-crazed teenagers. Every meal was now eaten in their upstairs bedroom. All bathing activities had become communal. She hadn't laundered a set of pajamas in weeks. It was like they were on vacation permanently, except for the fact they still had to go to work everyday. George had wanted to solve that little inconvenience by proposing they each take a year-long sabbatical in celebration.

The festivities had begun just a few minutes after their three daughters had boarded the Hogwarts Express together on September first. As she and George had stood on the platform, waving at the train as it pulled out of the station, he had been counting backwards out loud. As soon as the train had rounded the corner out of sight, and he had simultaneously reached zero in the countdown, he dragged her through the barrier and back into the muggle part of the station.

"Where are we going?" she had asked, confused as to why they weren't just apparating home.

"You'll see. I have a surprise for you," he said, grinning wickedly.

"Oh, dear," she said nervously.

Annie had become thoroughly perplexed by the time George led her into the enormous car park next to the station and down into the bowels of London. "George, I don't know what you think is going to happen down here, but there is no way on God's green earth...."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot just yet, love," he interrupted. "I think I can see it from here." He reached into his trouser pocket, and suddenly a nearby vehicle flashed its lights and beeped.

"Are you boosting a car?" she cried out in disbelief. "Absolutely not! I will not be a party to this!"

"I'm not stealing anything, git!" he exclaimed in response, drawing out the keys from his pocket and jangling them in front of her. They were now standing behind a sleek, muscular, expensive-looking silver car.

"Ooh," Annie gasped appreciatively at the vehicle. "Very nice. How long did you rent it for?" she asked, running her fingers along the rear spoiler, imagining what it would be like to fly down the freeway in it. Perhaps they were going on a little surprise weekend excursion?

"It's not rented. It's a gift," he said.

Annie looked up at him in shock. "I don't believe it. Who in the hell would give you a BMW 335?"

"It's not for me, you incredibly obtuse woman. It's for you. I am giving you a gift," he said, smiling a sly smile, as he tossed the keys at her. "And how do you know what kind of car it is anyway?"

Annie caught them in midair. "I read the same car magazines you do, for one. And it's written here on the boot, as well, idiot. But this is a very cruel joke, George. At least I was honest about the Porsche. Be serious - this is a £32,000 automobile!"

"A bit more than that, actually. Wait until you see all the nifty stuff inside. Do you want to see the registration as proof?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"You did not just buy me a car, George!" she exclaimed, pressing her forehead against the glass and attempting to peek into the heavily tinted window.

"Are you going to stop arguing and thank me at some point, or should I just go fuck myself?"

"Is it really for me, then?" she asked in a tiny, awestruck voice.

"YES, you complete moron! How many times do I have to say it?" he cried in exasperation.

She had taken a running leap into his arms at that moment, knocking him into the car parked next to her own new, beautiful one and setting off its alarm. It was the first brand-new, off-the-lot vehicle they had ever owned; the first one they had bought since the Toyota, right after the twins were born nearly eighteen years ago. The old farm truck had collapsed in a pile of rust years ago, and while the Land Cruiser still ran just fine, it left a bit to be desired in the "fun-to-drive" department.

"Thank you!" she cried over and over between kisses.

"That's a bit more like what I was expecting," he murmured.

*

It was a crisp, early November day when George and Annie apparated into Hogsmeade for the first Hogwarts quidditch match of the school term. They met up with their twin sons at their flat in town, then walked up to the pitch together. Since the match was Gryffindor against Slytherin, the boys felt no compunction today about supporting their sisters' team.

The match was spectacularly exciting. Merrie, Roxy Jordan and Domi Weasley were more than impressive, scoring more than two dozen goals altogether. Much to George's delight, Janie managed to block the majority of goal attempts made by the opposing team, and furthermore was assigned a penalty for every one that got through - she didn't handle getting beaten very well, and had a well-deserved reputation for punishing anyone who scored a goal against her. Joey was practically invisible, jetting around on the fantastically fast (and excessively dangerous, in Annie's opinion) Nimbus 3000 model broomstick her father had splurged on.

George even spared a few compliments for the members of the team he was not related to. "That Murphy kid is a pretty fair beater. Almost as good as I was," he said, winking at his wife.

Unsurprisingly, Joey caught the snitch, and the match was won in a landslide. The Gryffindor team landed and celebrated with a group hug. Roxy and Domi lifted the tiny Joey onto their shoulders and paraded her about. A few minutes later, the majority of the team turned their faces up to the stands and waved at George and Annie.

"Why does that Murphy fellow still have his arm around Merrie?" George asked no one in particular as he waved back to the team, his smile slowly fading.

Fred and Art barely attempted to stifle their snickers.

"You mean Merrie hasn't told you yet all about how wonderful and amazing and lovely Ryan Murphy is?" said Fred in a falsetto voice, his hands fluttering about his heart.

"In our experience, she won't shut up about him," added Art wearily.

"I haven't had a conversation with her about anything else for eight months now," complained Fred.

"Eight months?" asked George darkly, deeply disturbed that a daughter of his was within ten feet of an unrelated male at the moment. He looked like he was about to dash down to the pitch at any moment. He turned to glare accusatorily at his wife. "Did you know anything about this?"

"George, love, please control yourself. She's a good girl, and it was bound to happen sometime," Annie pleaded with him, holding tightly onto his arm with both hands. She had had her suspicions, of course, but Merrie had not confided in her. "She's seventeen, remember?"

"I remember. I remember all too well. Seventeen is quite clear in my mind at the moment," he said, through his clenched teeth.

"Dad, calm down. He's a decent bloke, really," offered Art.

"We wouldn't have let him within a mile of Merrie if he wasn't," added Fred.

Annie giggled. "Look at him... he's so happy! He's smitten like a puppy dog. You can see it from here," she argued, indicating the object of George's fury.

"Oh, I'm looking at him," George assured them. "Believe me... I'll be keeping my eyes on him from now on," he muttered, glancing at his sons and his wife suspiciously, as if they were part of a conspiracy against him.

"While you're at it, have a look at your daughter. She's over the moon with happiness. You wouldn't want her to be miserable, now, would you?"

"A bit of misery is a good thing, now and then. Especially for a hormonal teenager," he argued, but his tone of voice was much softer now. He doted on his daughters, which led him to be overprotective in some ways, but Annie knew he wouldn't wish his own experiences with school and teenage romance on his worst enemy. He was telling the truth when he had said earlier how easy it was for him to recall when he was seventeen; homesick, lovesick and depressed. It was just as easy for Annie to do the same.

"She's waving us down. Can you be civil, or do you need to stay here while I go meet Merrie's boyfriend?" she teased him.

"I can be civil, as long as he can keep his bloody hands to himself," George mumbled.

George and Annie made their way down the steps to meet their daughters, niece, and goddaughter on the grassy pitch. George had a big hug and smile for each of the girls, congratulating them on a match well played.

Then he turned to the two boys standing before him. With dangerously glittering eyes, he offered each of them what to Annie looked like an overly-firm handshake accompanied by congratulations that were far less sincere.

"You know, I used to play beater for Gryffindor," he said softly, threateningly.

Poor Ryan Murphy squirmed like he was on trial for murder. "Yes, sir. Merrie has told us all about that, sir," he stammered.

"Don't mind tellin' you, I cracked quite a few heads, in my day," George added, smiling like a shark.

Ryan attempted a laugh that died instantly, sounding more like a squeak.

"Oh, Daddy. Don't be mean," said Merrie, giving her father a peck on the cheek and taking his hand in hers. George immediately softened, his gaze now directed at his daughter. "Ryan sent a Slytherin to the hospital wing today himself. I thought you of all people would be particularly pleased by that," she added, taking Ryan's hand in her other one.

"I suppose anyone who knocks a Slytherin off his broom is okay in my book," he admitted grudgingly.

"Well, we're off to the Common room to celebrate. See you at Christmas!" Merrie called out, dashing off with her boyfriend in tow to meet up with the group waiting for them.

George snorted. "She'll be lucky if we let her go back for second term," he said as he watched the two of them run toward the castle.

"I suppose that's the problem with being married so young," Annie mused, leaning her head against his shoulder. "You remember those teenage years too well, yet have no sympathy for your own children."

"You might be right about that," he agreed.

"Speaking of lovesick teenagers in need of sympathy, did you notice the look on your son's face today?"

"No - which one?" he asked curiously.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, Arthur is rather taken with Miss Jordan." As she spoke, she was watching him shyly trying to chat with Roxy, awkwardly congratulating her on the win.

"Oh, that? No news there."

"What do you mean? When did you discover this?" Annie cried, very put out that he had known something of this magnitude and hadn't shared it with her.

"When he asked me for help with a love potion, about two years ago."
Annie's eyes boggled. "You've known since then, and never told me? What happened?"

"Well, to be honest, I didn't know he still felt the same, because he never brought it up again. And I told him back then that a potion was definitely not the way to go about things. 'Stick to the old-fashioned way,' I told him."

"So what did he do?"

"Nothing," chimed in Fred, who had just rejoined them. "He doesn't have the cojones to ask her out properly. Says he's too afraid of ruining their 'friendship,'" he said, rolling his eyes and adding exaggerated finger quotes in the air for effect.

Annie and George looked at each other and shared sympathetic smiles for their son.

"What is it about Weasley boys? Why do they make themselves suffer so needlessly in love?" Annie said wistfully. "She's so clearly interested in him," she added, recognizing that look on the sweet girl's face, having worn it for so long herself. She nearly felt as bad for Roxy as she did for her own son.

"Probably because we always go for the beautiful girl we think is out of our league," George said with a smile, lacing his arm around her.

"You'd better go have a talk with him, George," Annie said.

"Waste of breath and time," muttered Fred in warning.

"Maybe you ought do it this time, love. My talk apparently didn't help much," chuckled George. "Ready to go, Art?" he called out as his son was dejectedly watching the Gryffindor quidditch team make their way back inside the castle.

"Walk with me a bit, Art," said Annie softly, tucking her arm around her son's and steering him away from his father and twin brother. He had been taller than she since he was thirteen, and now fairly towered over her, the twins both taking after their Uncle Ron in build. "Let's have a little mother-son chat, shall we?"