Monsters Aren't Real, Son

Chapter 2: An Invitation

October 19, 2008

11 a.m.

The following Saturday was a quintessential English autumn day: thoroughly soggy. Janie and Joey were outside, brightly visible through the windows in their ironically sunny yellow rain slickers and wellies. Annie kept an eye on them as they sloshed in the puddles outside while she hung the laundry on indoor lines in front of the fire.

Indoors, Mole Hill was peacefully quiet. Merrie had gone to the Jordans' for a sleepover the night before and had yet to return. The twins were seated at the dining table, diligently finishing the weekend's homework. Annie was about to call out for Winky and suggest they start making lunch when the flames in the fireplace suddenly flared a brilliant emerald green.

"Who is it?" Fred asked.

"Dunno," Annie replied, stumped. They weren't expecting Merrie back until supper.

"Halloo!" Ron's voice called out from the flames. "Everybody decent?"

Annie heard a familiar chuckle emanating from the fire as well.

"Uncle Ron! Uncle Harry!" the twins cried excitedly, recognizing the voices at the same time as Annie did. They ran to Annie's side, eager to greet their surprise visitors.

"Come on in," Annie hollered toward the fireplace.

Ron burst out of the fire in the next moment, calling out, "Hey, George!" Typically not paying attention to where he was going, he took three bounding steps out of the hearth and promptly collided with the first line of laundry. In patented Ron fashion, he somehow managed to get tangled up in a clothesline full of Annie's undergarments.

Harry's initial chuckle quickly morphed into a full laugh. He sidestepped around his struggling friend, walking around the spectacle to stand beside Annie and the twins, who were all staring gape-mouthed at Ron.

Ron squawked like he was being attacked by one of Ginny's finest bat bogey hexes, batting bra straps and lace-trimmed underpants away from his head. His great arms spun like windmills, and nearly one entire line of clothing bounced into the air and rained to the floor.

Harry was now bent over, hands on his knees, laughing. The twins began to giggle at their comical uncle, as well. Annie's hands were perched on her hips, however, her mouth pursed, unamused.

Finally standing still amidst a pool of damp women's underwear, Ron suddenly noticed a bra on his shoulder. Screeching, he threw it off of himself.

"Oh, honestly, Ron! They're not lethal!" Annie barked.

"They don't bite," Harry cried, his voice registering an octave higher than normal from laughter.

"Just... a bit... startled..." Ron stammered. He glanced down to the floor for an instant to survey the damage, then his eyes flew skyward in embarrassment. "Sorry... about your... things," Ron mumbled, the last word uttered in a mousy squeak.

Harry was now laughing hysterically, unable to catch his breath. The twins were laughing as well, perhaps more at Uncle Harry's merriment rather than Uncle Ron's haplessness, at this point.

"Well, pick them up and put them back where you found them!" Annie demanded, aggravated that a good bit of her morning's work had been undone, as well as by Ron's ridiculously immature response.

Ron withdrew his wand from his pocket.

"No fair! You never let us clean up messes with magic," Art whined to his mother.

"Just because you can do something with magic, doesn't mean you should, Uncle Ron," Fred scolded.

"Uncle Ron is a grown-up, boys," Annie replied. Then she turned back to her brother-in-law. "Presumably, that is."

But Harry was far from finished with his fun. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, and Ron's wand flew out of his hand and into Harry's. "Now, do set a good example for our nephews, Ron," Harry taunted his friend.

Ron, his face flaming red and pouting, bit his lower lip as he bent down and began to gather Annie's underwear off the floor. For several minutes, he shot murderous glares at Harry while he pinned them all back on the line.

Meanwhile, Harry staggered toward a chair and fell into it. Doubled over with laughter, he wrapped his arms around his chest and began hiccupping. "Worse... than... spiders... are they?"

Annie smacked Harry upside the head. "Grow up!" she snapped.

She would have preferred Ron to have used magic, actually. The job would have been finished quickly and without him having to touch... everything. At least Ron wasn't trying to whine his way out of it in front of the boys, she conceded.

Her scolding did nothing to abate the hilarity for Harry, apparently. He continued laughing, occasionally wiping tears from his cheeks, watching Ron hang their sister-in-law's panties and bras on a clothesline.

Annie turned back to Ron, who looked like he was about to implode with humiliation. For some reason, this irritated her immensely. "It's not like you've never seen them before!" Annie barked, exasperated. "Or do you expect me to believe Hermione doesn't wear knickers?"

"Oh, God!" Harry wheezed and launched into a new round of hysterics, sliding off the chair and onto the floor with a thud. "H'mione...noknickers...."

Mercifully finished with his task at last, Ron marched over to where Harry was sprawled, yanked him up off the floor and punched him hard on the arm. He shoved his hand roughly into Harry's jacket pocket and retrieved his own wand.

"Ow," Harry protested, finally able to take a full breath.

"Show's over, boys," Annie said, shooing the twins back to their studies. She turned back to her brothers-in-law, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of her nose (a habit she'd picked up from George). "What do you want, you two?" she asked with feigned patience.

"Where's George?" Ron asked through gritted teeth.

Not here, thank God, Annie thought, or you'd be jinxed to kingdom come. She shot Harry a glare of her own as he continued to periodically erupt in twitters and giggles. They were apparently an involuntary side effect of his previous paroxysm. "He's at the factory. Why?"

Ron shook his head. "Official business," he replied.

Annie searched both men's faces. All traces of amusement and discomfort were gone instantly, replaced by serious focus. "I probably don't like the sound of that, do I?" she sighed.

Ron and Harry shrugged noncommittally, giving nothing away.

"At the factory, you say?" Ron repeated.

Annie nodded. "Will he at least be home for supper?" she asked.

"That's up to him," Ron replied.

Harry followed Ron back into the fireplace, and they were gone an instant later.

*

George had finally identified the uncooperative loose bolt after an hour of searching for the rattling noise. Lying on his back under a large, formidable-looking piece of machinery, he aimed his wand at the blasted thing. "Turbonis," he growled with extreme prejudice.

"George!"

Startled, George cracked his skull twice: first against the underbelly of the machine, then against the concrete floor. "Fuck!" he groaned as he saw stars.

"Is this what you do all day, George? Lay around like a flobberworm?" he heard Harry tease him from the vicinity of his feet. "Must be nice," he chuckled.

"Get out from under there, you stupid git," Ron said, kicking the soles of George's shoes. "Time to do some real work for a change."

You miserable little...!

George shot an angry jinx at Ron's legs and felt slightly mollified when his brother howled in pain. Although he doubted anything could compare to the agony in his own head at the moment.

"What the bloody hell are you two gits doing here?" George snarled as he squirmed his way out from under the machine.

"Why only me and not him, too?" Ron whined, jabbing his finger at Harry. He was sitting on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to counteract the burning sensation on his skin. "Why is it always me?"

The whiney wheel gets the hex? George muttered to himself. Sighing with irritated dissatisfaction, he reversed the spell.

All the while, Harry had been giggling like a schoolboy.

"What's gotten into you?" George demanded, annoyed.

Harry grinned like a cat-eating canary, still giggling. "Be nice to him! Ron's out of sorts because he's just been attacked by Annie's underwear."

George turned back and stared hard at Ron.

"Not my fault!" Ron spluttered. "I didn't exactly step out of the Floo into your house expecting to find it transformed into a bloody lingerie shop, did I?"

George continued to glare silently at his brother who looked nervously away.

"Tell him how you tried one on," Harry goaded his best friend.

"Shut up, Harry!" Ron cried, scrambling to his feet.

Harry turned to George with a surprisingly mischievous glint in his eyes. "And then he started touchin' all of 'em," he added.

Ron shoved Harry forcefully. Harry stumbled and crashed against the side of the machine, guffawing.

"I didn't, George! I swear!" Ron insisted in a squeaky voice.

"You're a bloody idiot," George growled as he slowly clambered to his feet, batting away Ron's hastily proffered, supplicant hand.

"Runs in the family," Ron snapped petulantly.

George gingerly probed his head with his fingers, finding two diametrically opposed goose eggs were rapidly forming. He conjured two ice packs, then applied them to his injuries. "You've spent the morning pawing through my wife's underwear then tracking me down here why?" he grumbled.

"Oh, right," Ron replied, his mood brightening instantaneously. "You said you wanted to come along on the next raid.... Ring Annie and see if she'll let you come out and play with us tonight," he said tauntingly.