George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 59: Generations

September 2041

Age 63

It was a gorgeous Saturday morning; the sky was stunningly beautiful, clad in a deep blue sapphire color that could only ever be seen in autumn, adorned with puffy white clouds that seemed to purposefully avoid blocking the sun for any length of time. Leaves were just beginning to turn, so little spots of color could be found tucked surprisingly amid a sea of green in the forest beyond the meadow.

Annie and George were seated at their dining table, eating breakfast and chatting. Every few minutes or so, George would share something he read in the paper with his wife. She would nod, or make a noise to let him know she heard him, but mostly her attention wandered.

"The house is too quiet. I miss having Hannah here," Annie lamented, sipping her coffee and popping the last bit of toast into her mouth. She and George had spent a fortnight in Brazil this June with Fred and his young family, then brought eleven-year-old Hannah back with them for a few weeks before school started. It had been so much fun to visit Kings Cross Station on September first once more, setting their granddaughter on the Hogwarts Express and waving as it pulled out of the station. It had been nineteen years since they had done so with one of their own children.

And Hannah Augusta, named after her maternal grandmother and great-great grandmother, was a darling thing: dark brown hair with reddish highlights, deep brown doe-like eyes, and bronze skin. She and her younger brother Frank were being raised by their parents in the Amazon rainforest, and could scramble through the enormous trees like the monkeys they often chased after. She spoke Portuguese, Spanish and the indigenous tongue of the local tribe as fluently as she did English. Their granddaughter had been a joy to be around and get to know over the summer.

"I know what you mean," George mumbled absently. "I think your company leaves something to be desired, as well."

Annie chose to ignore her husband's latest teasing insult and poured herself another cup of coffee instead. "This is almost the last of the beans we brought back... I told you we should have brought more."

"I suppose we'll just have to make plans to go back, then," he said with a half-smile. "Maybe we can squeeze in a trip after the new year."

George had spent the last forty years building up the Wheezes business, hiring many talented wizards during those years who had over time developed a deep loyalty to him. The whole thing practically ran itself. Similarly, Annie had worked hard with the school, which now boasted a small but dedicated staff of teachers and a reputation of excellence as well. Annie did little day-to-day teaching anymore, focusing most of her energy on administrative duties and helping Merrie with her enormous new undertaking: a sister school in London. Their ventures had succeeded to the point that he and Annie were now free to devote a good deal of their time to one of their greatest loves: traveling.

They were currently making plans to visit Japan later in the fall, and George was at least as excited about riding the muggle bullet trains there as he was about pulling off one of the greatest wizarding-business-coups in recent memory: opening up trade with the notoriously secretive Japanese potion-making industry. Rumors had abounded for ages about the unrivalled potency of Japanese potion ingredients, and by some stroke of genius he had convinced several professional potioneers' consortiums there to exchange their knowledge and access to stores of ingredients for his engineering expertise in the field of magical automation.

"Are you busy with plans today?" she asked him, an idea beginning to form in her mind.

"Nothing that can't be put off," he replied, sounding interested. "The boys are coming later, for dinner I think."

Yes, indeed - she knew well that their twin grandsons, Ruari and Liam, were planning to come to the house tonight for a meal, as well as for a crucial conversation with their grandfather about their futures. George had been thrilled when the boys had come to him when they were fourteen, asking for summer jobs at the shop in Diagon Alley. He had raved about their work ethic, cleverness, and sound business sense; praise that only grew in its effusiveness as the boys returned to their jobs each subsequent summer. This past spring, they had finished their studies at Hogwarts and embarked on full-time employment with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and George could not have been more delighted.

Ruari and Liam had come to her several weeks ago, wanting to gauge her opinion and pick her brain for suggestions on how to approach their granddad with their latest plan. Annie was happy to help, and convinced it was a magnificent idea as well. She knew that if it was proposed in the right manner, George would be enormously pleased with his grandsons.

"Let's go to Dartmoor today and enjoy the last bit of sun," she suggested. The day's lovely weather would someday soon spoil into the usual cold and rain of the season, and she disliked wasting a moment of it indoors. And Dartmoor National Park had been one of their favorite places ever since they were children to enjoy the natural beauty of the land they had been raised in.

"Brilliant idea. A walk sounds nice," her husband agreed, folding the newspaper and setting it down next to his plate. "D'you fancy a drive, or should we just pop over there?" he asked casually.

Annie had grown so used to magical modes of transportation over the years, the question didn't phase her in the slightest. She was about to tell him that she didn't care, and offer to let him decide, when an unfamiliar owl screeched at the back door.

They both looked at each other with mild surprise for a moment, then Annie stood up. She set their dishes in the sink on her way to the back door, then opened it to allow the large bird entrance into her home.

It flew directly to the table, and George removed the letter from its leg. "It's for you," he said as the owl exited the house and headed back off to whence it had come.

"Me? Who's it from?" Annie asked as she returned to the table, expecting to hear a grandchild's name. They were her only correspondents, for the most part. She and George had eight of them at Hogwarts this year, all in Gryffindor, three of them on the quidditch team. George was carefully planning their travels around the various matches of the season. It was a source of immense pride for him that he had never missed a match where their grandchildren or their daughter Joey, who still played professionally for Chudley, were playing.

"Governing Board of Hogwarts, it says," he said quizzically.

"But they've been hounding you for a decade to join. Why would they be sending something to me?" she asked, confused.

"Well I don't know, do I? Maybe they think you could persuade me," he suggested with a smirk.

"They're idiots, then. Everyone knows you never listen to me," she said with a roll of her eyes.

George snorted. "Name one thing you've asked me to do that I haven't!" he protested.

"Did I miss the Tickling Tentacula getting pruned this week? It keeps trying to goose me whenever I hang up the wash...."

"Other than gardening chores," he argued.

"Been to see the dentist lately?"

"Something important...." He sighed theatrically.

"Your teeth are important, especially at the rate you eat," Annie ribbed him.

George loudly snapped them shut and chuckled. Annie laughed at him, then opened the letter. She was forced to hold it out as far away from her as her arms could reach, attempting to bring the handwriting into focus.

"Need me to read it for you?" he laughed.

"Shut up," she warned him as she reluctantly slid reading glasses onto her face.

"Four eyes," he mumbled loud enough for her to hear.

"You know, it really is astounding how you have resisted any and all civilizing influences over the years. You do realize you are sixty-four years old, do you not? Grow the hell up, already!" she admonished him, pretending to be cross.

"The last thing you want is for me to act my age," he warned, looking over his coffee mug at her as he took a sip.

"Perhaps you could attempt to mature beyond adolescence, then," she snapped sarcastically.

"You weren't complaining about my teenage tendencies an hour ago," he laughed, leering at her.

"Okay... mentally then," she laughed with him. She finally turned back to the letter. Annie was silent for several minutes as she read it, then read it again.

"Having trouble with the big words?" he teased her. "Just break them down and sound them out."

"Sod off," she said without lifting her eyes from the letter.

"Kiss your grandchildren with that mouth?" he needled her. After another moment, he spoke again, impatiently. "What is it, already?"

"This can't be right," she muttered, brow furrowed, reading through it once more.

"Someone in trouble? Hannah doesn't seem the troublemaker type, really. At least not to the point of getting herself expelled. At least, not her first term."

"They want... me?" she asked no one in particular, refusing to believe what she had read three times now in the letter.

Her husband snatched it from her hands and perused it quickly. "Well done you, prat." He smiled and tossed the letter onto the table.

"It doesn't make any sense..." she said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.

"Makes more sense asking you than it ever did asking me! I hate school. Always have, always will. Poor McGonagall would've had a stroke if I'd've joined the Board. They only wanted me for a donation, anyway. Ever since I gave 'em money they've left me in peace. But you... you're a famous teacher, after all, with your ever-so-brilliant schools," he said, lingering on the s to emphasize the plural, referring to the school she and Merrie had started last year in London, and managing to sound only slightly patronizing. "You should do it," he encouraged her.

Annie shook her head slowly. "I dunno...."

"Imagine that - a muggle on the Governing Board of Hogwarts!" he chuckled.

"That's just it. It must be a joke," she said. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. "Are you behind this? It isn't even real, is it?" she asked, turning the letter over in her hands, looking for clues of forgery.

"My God, your paranoia knows no bounds, does it?" he cried, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same.

"Lesson learned the hard way, love," she said, smirking at him. The letter looked genuine enough to her. "Maybe they want money from me as well? A bit of milking the same cow twice?"

"Doubt it. And you've kept the fact that you're independently wealthy well-hidden from absolutely everyone else but me. They probably think you know something about education," he argued.

"Not magical education! What the hell do I know about spells and potions?" she cried.

"Well, they're not asking you to teach it, git," he said.

"What are they asking for, then? What does the Governing Board do, anyway?" she asked as she stood up and walked toward the back door.

George followed her. "Well, they have great boring meetings, don't they? About sucking money out of people by promising to carve their names on a wall somewhere - a trick I accomplished in your honor, for free mind you, about half a century ago now," he said, referring to the Annie Jones memorial boys' toilet on the seventh floor. "And they figure they've got the right to stick their noses into loads of things they know nothing about, like curriculum and getting professors and headmasters sacked for no good reason. That's about it, as far as I can tell."

"You make it all sound so glamorous. I can't wait to start," she laughed, offering sarcasm for sarcasm.

He held up her jacket and was now helping her into it. "You don't have to be that way, you know. You could be a force for good... a bit of desperately needed common sense... a voice of reason," he encouraged her with a smile. To protect his balding head from the sun, he donned a tatty blue baseball cap with an embroidered B on it - a long-ago gift from his American son-in-law to commemorate their visit to his hometown. Annie smiled, recalling George's opinion of the American national pastime: "Imagine - nearly forty thousand people each spend ten galleons or more to watch paint dry for four hours! Thank God - at least there's beer." He had appreciated the frenetic action of the ice hockey game far more....

"Come on, let's get going already. It's no use standing here arguing about it. You know I couldn't care less about the state of magical education in Britain these days. As long as they continue to let the house teams play quidditch, they can do whatever else they sodding well want," he said, holding the door open for her.

"Oh my, yes. God forbid anything threatens to interrupt bloody Quidditch Cup matches! Why, I think the world might just stand still without them!" she snapped back.

"I will not tolerate blasphemy in this house, woman!" he warned her as he put her in the gentlest of headlocks and pulled her out the door.

They spent the morning and early afternoon strolling leisurely along the trails in Dartmoor. George considerately kept his pace moderate so that Annie could easily maintain a similar one: it was not that he was more fit than she was, but that his legs were so much longer than hers. Annie prided herself that, although her days of running were behind her, she still walked frequently for exercise, and looked younger than her age because of it.

Many of those walks occurred with her youngest grandchildren in tow, exploring the extensive forest lands belonging to the Weasley family. Janie's youngest daughter Meredith, and Joey's children - twins Harry and Charlie, and little baby Ginny - all attended her school, at least for the time being. Starting next year, little Ginny Wood would be the only student calling her "Gran" at school. Of course, she still had several grand-nieces and -nephews - Ron's and Ginny's grandchildren - who always greeted her as "Auntie Annie." She had refused to adhere to any formalities of address in her school, insisting initially that it was silly for her own children to call her anything but Mum, and extended the courtesy to the entire ranks of Weasley-descended children. The rest of the unrelated students called her Miss Annie, and that was as formal as it got.

"Are you going to do it, then?" George asked her as they reached the crest of a hill. Spread out before them was a wide open space, with scattered outcroppings of stone. Several teenage boys were scrambling over the nearest one, their antics bringing a smile to both Annie and George's faces as they recalled doing the same thing ages ago. As millions of children over thousands of years must have, as well, Annie mused.

"I dunno... it doesn't make any sense for them to want me," she reiterated for the tenth time today.

"You know, Annie, your penchant for self-deprecation is absolutely maddening!" he said, shaking his head in annoyance. "I think it makes perfect sense that the only secondary school for magical children in Britain would value the opinions and seek out the guidance of the person who founded the most successful primary school for magical children in Britain," he argued, losing patience with her.

"George, the success of our school depends largely on the fact that we've got a wonderful staff who works with the children, Winky included. I have almost nothing to do with it anymore," she argued.

"But none of them would be there if it wasn't for you!" he cried. "You assembled the staff, you determined what they would teach. You are sixty-four years old and have dedicated your life to educating two generations of wizards in Britain. You have been vastly successful at it. Grow the hell up already and take credit where it's due!" he yelled, exasperated with her.

Annie giggled at her husband, amused that he threw her own scolding words from this morning back at her. She supposed he was right, on some level. The school was doing well - so well in fact that the sister school in London filled up to enrollment capacity immediately its first year. Annie conceded that the reputation she had worked hard to build had some part in that.

"Still, I don't think I'm going to take the seat on the board," she hedged.

"And why the hell not?" he demanded. "And I swear that if you say, 'It doesn't make sense,' one more time, I will hex you until you resemble the stupid hag you're pretending to be," he warned.

"Okay... how about this then? First, the fact that our son is the current Charms professor, and head of Ravenclaw house, and rumored to be next in line for the headmaster's position would likely be considered a conflict of interest for me. The last thing I would want to do is tarnish his accomplishment by giving anyone the chance to cry nepotism," she argued.

"So what? I'll bet Art couldn't care less. You can always abstain from that particular vote," he argued.

"I'm not finished. Second, I hate, loathe and despise meetings. I have neither the time nor the patience for them. I'm busy enough with life as it is. It may perhaps come as some surprise that taking care of you is a full time job, love," she added teasingly.

"I agree with you about the meetings part, but..."

"Don't interrupt me, darling. Third, and most important, I have quite a bit of resentment stored up against the great bastion of learning that is Hogwarts. That place made my life miserable between the ages of eleven and eighteen, and I haven't forgiven it. As far as I'm concerned, the castle should be dismantled stone by bloody stone and tossed into the lake for the merpeople to build shithouses out of. I'm afraid that would be my solution to every problem or my opinion of every suggestion. And that would not, I think, be what the Governing Board is looking for from its newest member," she concluded.

George was laughing by the end of her mockingly spiteful tirade. "All right then - point well taken. I suppose you should tell them no, if that's how you really feel."

By the time they arrived back home at Mole Hill, it was late in the afternoon, and Annie fell to preparing dinner. George dutifully helped her with the chopping and mixing duties, something he had always done once their children were old enough not to require constant supervision. She had always appreciated his efforts in return, and enjoyed their time together in the kitchen. It was one of the rare times she could count on him to be obedient and cooperative. He never questioned her when it came to cooking.

Annie had worked diligently over the years of their marriage to curb some of the worst dietary sins George had learned growing up in the Burrow on his mother's cooking. The Weasley metabolism must be a scientific marvel, she reckoned, because none of them had succumbed to heart disease or diabetes yet. Molly had a talent for preparing delicious food, as Annie could readily attest, but it was nearly always rich and heavy, buttered and creamed to within an inch of cholesterol Armageddon.

Consequently, George had arrived at Hogwarts with a taste for fat and sugar, partnered with an appetite equal to that of an adolescent dragon. The menu at school, magically prepared by house elves who loved to please the children and were generous with treats to a fault, only served to reinforce his worst habits. He had daily gorged himself on greasy sausages and bacon at breakfast; chips and sweets for lunch; followed by an artery-hardening supper of red meat, starchy vegetables, and creamy desserts. Not to mention his nearly nightly forays down to the kitchen for snacks.

By the time they had started their married life together, Annie reckoned George was a walking, ticking time bomb; a heart attack just waiting to happen. And while she had liked all those "naughty" foods as well - the sweets and fried things and such - she had been raised by her economical Gran to eat them in moderation rather than as a primary component of a daily diet. Armed with her public school health class education regarding a food pyramid - a concept utterly foreign to magical folk, she soon learned - and an understanding of the health consequences of poor eating habits, Annie became determined to cultivate in George an appreciation for steamed vegetables, baked chicken, and fat-free dairy products.

George's saving grace was that he seemed to be one of the least picky eaters in existence: he didn't care much about what he ate, as long as there was a lot of it to fill him. Annie first introduced him to salads with unequivocal success. Next came breakfasts of whole grains and fresh fruit - again, as long as there was vast quantities of it, George never complained. Annie was grateful that her children at least had arrived at Hogwarts with a greater appreciation for healthy food than their father had done.

Tonight, Annie was roasting the equivalent of three whole chickens, along with side dishes of vegetables, salad, rice, fruit, and a dessert. Most people would have considered such bounty to be overly-generous for four people, and in most cases, they would be correct. Almost everyone she knew accused her of making far too much food, yet for some reason no one else could fathom, Annie's refrigerator never contained left-overs. Tonight, she was expecting three Weasley males for dinner, therefore cooked for an army, confident in the knowledge gained by experience that after the meal, her table would look like it had been pillaged by a Viking horde.

"That was delicious, Gran," offered Ruari as he scraped his plate clean with his fork a few hours later.

"Thank you, my dear," Annie answered. It pulled at her heart, just a tiny bit, every time her children's children called her that. It never failed to bring some image of her own Gran to mind, gone now these many decades. Yet it made perfect sense - what else would they call her? Molly was "Granny" to everyone now, and Annie felt honored to share the moniker with Meredith.

"Bee-ru ip-pon ku-da-sai," George said.

"I'm not a waitress. Get it yourself," Annie replied with a smirk.

"What was that, Granddad?" Liam asked curiously.

"Just a little Japanese," George chuckled.

Annie snorted at her grandsons' impressed looks. "A very little Japanese," she said.

"How did you know what he said, Gran?"

"It's the only thing he knows how to say, love," she giggled.

"I'll have you know I speak thirty languages," George boasted.

"You know how to order a beer in thirty languages, git," she admonished her husband while her grandsons laughed. "That hardly qualifies you as fluent."

"Bah!" George snorted and waved his hand dismissively. He took another large bite of apple pie.

"Now there's an example of the one language he speaks fluently, boys. Troll."

"What about English, moron?" George taunted, his cheek resembling that of a chipmunk's, full of a bite.

"Not hardly. You're unintelligible fifty percent of the time, usually due to your mouth being full of food! I know for a fact you were not raised in a cave, but you seem hell-bent to promote that very impression."

"Let that be a lesson to you, boys. You think you're marrying a sweet, pretty girl - then one morning, you wake up next to a hag!" George stabbed his finger in the air in Annie's direction.

"Chew and swallow, George! For pity's sake, chew and swallow, then speak!" she cried in exasperation.

"I bet you boys heard I lost this ear in a battle. Ha! This one's been chewin' 'em off for bloody decades! I've only got one left, and it's hangin' on by a thread at this point, but do you think she'd show a scrap of pity...?"

The twin boys were laughing at the elderly couple's antics. Their grandparents were legendary within the family for their playful, insulting tirades against each other, as well as the loving, tender care they took of one another during more quite, private moments. All of their grandchildren loved spending time with them, for not only were they sure to be indulged with sweets and toys, but promised to be thoroughly entertained by their silly teasing and pranks on each other.

After the laughter died down, George offered a complement to his grandsons. "I spoke to Sam the other day, and he mentioned you two had a clever idea for a new product line," he said. Sam and Verity Spellman were nearly family to them as well by now. Sam had shared the news yesterday when the two of them had joined George and Annie for lunch.

Annie smiled. While George never praised his children or grandchildren unless they truly earned it, he lavished it whenever they did. He doted on each and every one of them, to boot. And such a discussion would be just the opening her grandsons needed.

"Oh, yeah. Li and I were talking the other day with Uncle Elliot about how American kids celebrate Halloween, dressing in costumes and going door-to-door for sweets," Ruari replied.

"He says it's popular to wear tattoos that wash off but look like scars and open wounds and such," Liam added.

"So we figured something like that might work over here," Ruari continued.

"We're thinking along the lines of temporary talons, fading fangs, a few gory-looking injuries, and such," Liam explained.

George was smiling eagerly. "That's brilliant! Back in my day, the best we had were grow-your-own-warts kits, and they were lame beyond belief. Temporary talons... now that sounds like real fun. How long do they last?"

Liam held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, displaying fingernails that looked like they belonged on a great ape rather than a nineteen-year-old boy. "Not quite temporary enough, yet. But we'll get there, I reckon. Maybe in time to roll them out for Christmas."

"Well done, boys. Really well done," George raved. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Thanks," Ruari mumbled yet beamed at his brother. Liam smiled back and gave him a tiny nod. George noticed both boys then glanced at their grandmother, who gave them an encouraging wink.

"There was something else, actually, that we wanted to talk to you about, Granddad," Ruari said.

"Something important," added Liam.

"Well, go on. I'm listening," George said after an awkward pause. He looked at Annie, seated across the table from him, who was carefully keeping her face expressionless. He immediately recognized that the three of them were in on this together, whatever it was.

"First, we just wanted to let you know how much we love working at the Wheezes. How grateful we are that you've hired us on," offered Ruari.

George's eyes narrowed, wondering where this was going. "The pleasure is all mine, boys. You do a good job; everyone makes a point of telling me so. And you've got good heads for it - like the ideas you've shared with me tonight," he said cautiously.

"Right," Liam agreed awkwardly. "What Ruari is trying to say is that, well, we can't imagine doing anything else. Ever."

"We just wanted to let you know, now that we've been there for a while, we are completely committed to the joke business."

"To the point that, well, we wanted to ask you if you would be willing to..."

"If you would ever consider it, that is..."

"Eventually, we mean, of course..."

"Completely on your own timetable, definitely..."

"And for whatever price you think it's worth..."

"Because we've been saving all our wages, see..."

"Boys," George interrupted. "Just spit it out, already."

"We want to buy you out," Liam said, smiling with nervous hope.

"Whenever you're ready to retire, that is," Ruari added, then held his breath.

George leaned back into his chair, flabbergasted by the proposition his oldest grandchildren just presented. They want to buy the Wheezes!? He had never wasted a single thought about retirement, or what would happen to the business when he was finished with it. None of his own children had ever expressed an interest in it, and that had been just fine with him. He had always encouraged them to pursue their own paths in life, and they had done just exactly that. Each of them were successful in their own way.

"Why not start up your own business? I'll loan you seed money," he offered the boys. He didn't want them to feel limited in their options. He could certainly understand them wanting to be their own boss - after all, he and Fred had felt the same way.

"Jokes are what we know, Granddad. What we love," Ruari explained.

"And we don't want to be in competition with the best in the business - we want to be with the best. It doesn't make sense to re-invent the broom," Liam said.

"We love the Wheezes, and we both want to see it continue," Ruari added.

George sighed, and rubbed his chin with his hand, pondering the offer. "Boys, let me think about it for a bit. I promise I will seriously consider your offer."

"Thanks, Granddad," Ruari said, beaming.

"That's all we ask," Liam said, excited.

Both boys directed pleased smiles at their grandmother, who gave them a smile of her own and a tiny nod of her head.

That night, as the two of them were climbing into bed, Annie revisited the subject. "You know you're going to do it," she said.

"Of course I am. That was never an issue," he replied.

"So what is it you've been obsessing over tonight, then?"

"It's going to take some creative accounting, or tricky financing, at the very least. Otherwise they'll be my age before they can afford to pay what the Wheezes is really worth," he said distractedly.

"Give them raises," she suggested.

George nodded. "That's a start," he agreed.

"And I'm sure Bill can arrange for favorable terms on a loan," she continued.

"Most likely," he said, smiling. "Are you that eager to have me at home, underfoot, all day long?"

"Good Lord. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Well, there's no great rush, is there? Forget I said anything, will you?" she teased, leaning in for a kiss.