Summer 1993

Chapter 12: Summer 1993

Age 15

Annie met her friends as planned the day after they arrived home from school. They gathered at the stream bank near the willow tree, and she knew something was amiss as soon as they'd said hello. Both boys were agitated, wearing uncharacteristic scowls on their faces. The three of them sat on the ground beneath the tree as Annie asked them what was wrong.

"It was Malfoy," Fred explained, his eyes blazing with fury and hate. "He was behind it all. You nearly had it right from the very beginning, Annie. Only it was the father, not the son."

Annie tore her eyes away from Fred for a second and spared a glance at George, who had been seated on the ground and leaning against the willow trunk with his eyes closed. He seemed too upset to join the conversation – instead, he'd sat silently while his fingers were drumming against his legs with nervous energy. He now stood up, fished a pocket knife out of his trousers, and began carving something into the bark of the tree.

"What happened?" Annie asked Fred.

"It started back at the bookshop before the school year began. Dad had words with Lucius Malfoy right there in the doorway.... Came to blows even. We figure that somehow during the scuffle, Malfoy planted the diary on Ginny."

"A diary?" asked Annie, unsure if she had heard correctly.

Fred nodded. "It was cursed or something. Full of Dark magic."

"But why would he do this to Ginny?" she asked, confused.

"For revenge. He hates Dad," Fred snarled in an angry whisper.

"Your Dad? Why?" she exclaimed, stunned that anyone could even dislike, much less hate someone who sounded as congenial and easygoing as Fred and George's father.

"There are several possible reasons – take your pick. Most likely because Dad was doing a lot of raids on houses suspected of Dark activity last fall. Maybe Malfoy was nervous he might be next and wanted Dad to think twice before messing with him. Or maybe because Ginny being found with a Dark object like the diary would smear the Weasley name, cause trouble for Dad at the Ministry.

"Or maybe just because Malfoy thinks we're all worthless, Muggle-loving disgraces to wizardry," Fred continued ranting. "And if Ginny accidentally released... the monster... hidden in the diary, then maybe one or more of us might've been the victims. In the end, it doesn't really matter why he did it. Fact is he did. And that's how the Chamber was opened and the basilisk was released."

"A basilisk!" she gasped in shock, instantly recalling several lethal details about the horrible monster she had read about as a young girl in the tattered little book they had kept in the treehouse. "It's a miracle no one was killed!" The startling news about the basilisk made her forget that Fred hadn't clearly explained the connection between the diary and the Chamber of Secrets being opened. She also forgot about the sense she had that Fred was trying to hide part of the story from her.

"Then three weeks ago, Ginny herself was taken into the Chamber. We were afraid she was... dead," he choked in a whisper.

"NO!" cried Annie. It couldn't be true! Fred and George's little sister... dead? Did the basilisk claim a victim, after all?

"It was the worst feeling.... I thought I was going mad, feeling so helpless and sad and angry," Fred choked. "But Ron and Harry, they had it all figured out. They went down into the Chamber, hoping they would be in time to rescue her. Thank God they were...."

"Ginny's okay? They found her, and she survived, right?" Annie asked, demanding they confirm the outcome, unwilling to consider the alternative.

Fred nodded. "Thanks to Harry, she's alive."

Annie sighed with relief. "So what's going to happen to this Malfoy maniac? Is he going to Azkaban now?"

Fred laughed sarcastically, a grim smile on his face. "There's no proof it was him. A legal fight would serve no purpose other than to drag Ginny's name through the mud. Money like Malfoy's ensures he wouldn't set foot in prison, even if charges were ever brought," he explained with disgust.

"Are you saying nothing's going to happen to him?" Annie had leaped to her feet and was yelling angrily at this point.

Fred's eyes narrowed as he shook his head slowly. "Not if I can help it. Someday... he'll pay for what he did."

*

Annie wandered a little distance behind her friends, trying to develop her photographer's eye. She had always loved taking pictures, ever since her grandmother had given her a camera for her twelfth birthday present. The midsummer light streaming through the trees of the forest was dim and greenish for the most part, but occasional bright spots caught her attention. She experimented with taking extremely close-up shots of interesting leaves or flowers, once even an intriguing pattern in some tree bark.

She paused to look up, her conscious mind suddenly alarmed by a silence that had lasted far too long. As she glanced around, she saw Fred was far ahead of her, bent over to collect some herb or insect for his illicit store of potion ingredients.

Uh-oh, she thought. That leaves one of them unaccounted for....

"BOO!"

Annie was spared the embarrassment of screaming since she had had an instant to prepare herself. All the same, she jumped with the surprise of it, and her heart was pounding. How the hell does he do that – go so bloody near invisible?

"You're so very talented, George. Now run off like a good boy and help your brother," she scolded him.

"I'm bored. Entertain me," he replied, shoving her gently.

"I have better things to do, and so do you," she answered, peering through the viewfinder of the camera at him.

He smirked and crossed his eyes.

"Stop it! Take a normal picture, for once," she admonished him.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "That is a normal picture, for me," he argued.

"Look over at that big rock.... No, on second thought, look up, not down," she directed. She was slightly surprised that he followed her commands and quickly snapped the picture before he lost interest. "Good. Your mother would like that one, I'll bet," she said, letting the camera hang again from the neck strap.

"Wonderful," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Now can we do something fun?"

"I happen to think this is fun," she argued.

"What's fun about it?" he asked sarcastically.

"Here, I'll show you. Have a go, yourself." She removed the strap from around her neck and passed the camera to him. "Just look through this bit, spin this part until it's not blurry, and hold very still when you push this button with your finger when you're ready. No... not at me," she cried, blocking his view through the lens with her hand. "Pick something else, please," she instructed him.

George began slowly turning around in a circle, peering through the camera. "Oh, this makes things look closer," he muttered as he spun the focus on the lens. "Cool!"

Annie heard the shutter click. "What did you snap?" she asked.

"That little rock outcrop," he replied, pointing to it in the distance.

"Good. That bit's nice and sunny so it should come out. Now, try composing something with this wild rose over here. The shape of it is nice, I think, and the light is good," she instructed, suddenly inspired to give him an impromptu lesson in photography.

George took a moment to frame the shot, then the shutter clicked again.

"All right, show me what you saw," she asked.

He took a step back so she could stand in his place, then passed the camera to her, careful to keep the same view in place. "That should be about it... except the aspect was from about a foot or so higher up. What me to lift you?" he laughed.

"Not necessary," she giggled. "Okay, not bad. But look at it this way – move the frame over, so the subject isn't dead centered like a target."

George peeked into the viewfinder over her shoulder. "Hmm... Interesting. I think I see what you mean," he replied, becoming genuinely curious.

Annie held the camera up to her own eye, took a moment to get the composition exactly right, then clicked the shutter. "We'll look at them side by side when they're developed and compare. Want to take some more?" she asked as she offered him the camera.

"As long as I get to choose what to look at," he said.

"Fine. As long as it isn't me."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I hate pictures of me. Blech! Don't waste my film...."

George rolled his eyes. "How mature of you," he chided her.

"That's the rule – take it or leave it," she argued.

"Take it," he answered, and he took the camera from her.

By the end of the afternoon, George had finished her first roll of film, and she had begun another. Several were of the brothers together, hamming it up for her. Then she had become intrigued by the play of light on the water and experimented for a while with a photographic study of the glare patterns.

George had talked her into letting him take one more shot near the end of the second roll, and she had reluctantly agreed, accurately expecting a setup. As soon as she handed the camera over, Fred appeared from out of nowhere.

He pinned her arms behind her back, set his head on her shoulder, and shouted, "Say cheese, Annie!"

Annie scowled and turned her head away, refusing to cooperate. "Not remotely funny, you jackasses."

"She's not smiling, Fred," George egged his brother on as he looked through the camera. "Try tickling it out of her."

"I will murder you," she warned Fred, attempting to squirm out of his grip before he followed through on his brother's command. "Do not...."

But she couldn't finish her sentence as she burst out laughing from the rib torture. To her further aggravation, she heard the shutter click.

"Ready to run for it, George?" laughed Fred. "I'm about to let her go...."

"You'd better worry about yourself as well, you bloody git," Annie yelled at him, gasping for breath, still pinned against him.

"Hang on.... Let me set this down in a safe spot, first," George replied, placing the camera carefully in a protected position at the base of a tree. "Okay, let 'er rip!"

Later that night, when the full moon was approaching its zenith in the sky, Annie found herself high on a hill facing a field of wheat.

"Remind me again.... What are we doing here?" she asked with a yawn.

"Nice try. I didn't tell you, yet," George replied. "I thought you liked surprises."

"Then you're more of a dim bulb than I took you for. I hate surprises," she muttered. "Especially your sort of surprises."

"I seem to recall you were very pleased by a certain surprise birthday party," he protested defensively.

"I was eight years old at the time," she giggled.

"Don't tell me you're too grown up now," he said with disgust.

"Of course not! I refuse to grow up, ever!" she laughed.

"That's the spirit!" he said encouragingly. He turned back to scan the field before them.

"Why isn't Fred with us?" she asked.

"Couldn't wake him. He sleeps like the dead, lately, and snores like a goddamn troll to boot," he complained.

"So, I'm the lucky one, then," she said, yawning again.

"Trust me, you won't want to miss this. In fact, it looks like they're starting," he whispered, pointing out toward the field.

There were two creatures beginning to move about, that much she could see. But they were too far away to make out any distinct features about them. The moonlight washed out all colors, reducing everything to shades of grey.

"What are they?" she asked in a whisper.

"Mooncalves," he answered, whispering as well.

"What are they doing?"

"Mating dance."

George and Annie watched as an elaborate circular maze was being flattened by the creatures as they moved slowly about, getting ever closer to each other. As time passed, they began to see few small patches of glittering silvery material in the pathways behind the mooncalves.

"What's the shiny stuff?" she whispered.

"Dung. That's what we're here for," he answered. He then stood up, pulling her up with him, and began to walk down the hill.

"Wait... where are we going?"

"To get the poo," he chuckled.

"But... don't you think we should wait for a bit longer? Erm... until they're, um, done?" she stuttered. If it was indeed a mating dance, the poor creatures deserved to finish what they started, Annie figured.

George paused, then chuckled again. "I suppose it would be rather rude of us to interrupt, wouldn't it?"

They both sat back down, but this time looked at the sky instead of the mooncalves, offering them what privacy they could. Nearly twenty minutes later, Annie felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She hadn't fallen completely asleep, but had been dozing a bit.

"They're gone now. Let's go," he said quietly.

Annie staggered up and followed George down the hill. As they reached the first pile of shining dung, and George withdrew a shovel from the large sack he had been carrying, Annie spoke up.

"Why do you want to collect this stuff?"

"Makes excellent fertilizer. You want to shovel or hold the bag?"

"Bag, please. I thought Fred was the one with a green thumb?"

"He is," George agreed. "He's also catatonic at the moment, so I reckon the job falls to me," he answered, dropping the first load into the bag.

They could see another pile a few yards away and began walking toward it.

"And you need this for...?"

"We'll give some of it to Mum," he said as the next load fell into the bag with a wet splat. "Never hurts to butter her up with gifts, we've found. She starts feeling a bit remorseful for all the times she's screamed at us," he said, smiling.

"And the rest?"

"Not exactly sure," he admitted. "We're trying to figure out how to obtain the ingredients for our next project – the charmed sweets, you know. Both the effects and the cures, especially during the development phase. We'll need more volume than we can safely nick from the school stores or the greenhouses. It'll be a right pain in the arse to grow it ourselves, but what other option do we have?"

"Sounds to me like you need a supplier," she said, smiling. "Someone on the outside you can trust."

George looked at her curiously. "You're plotting something, I can tell."

"Do you have a list of what you need? Is it all super-magical, man-eating plants?"

"Not all of it, no. Quite a bit of the stuff grows wild around here, free for the taking. But won't be ready to harvest before we leave, and therein lies the rub," he sighed disappointedly.

"You really are thick, aren't you?" she snapped, pretending to be irritated with him. "Are you telling me you can't think of any way for you to get plants that grow here when you're at school?" She screeched as George missed the bag, slopping a bit of the shiny manure onto her shoe.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked, excitedly. "And sorry about your shoe; that was an accident," he muttered.

"Depends. You're being pretty stupid tonight, so maybe not. Frankly, I'm offended you didn't think of me sooner."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. We actually did consider asking you...."

"Why didn't you?" she cried, starting to become offended for real.

"We didn't want to impose! I know you'll be really busy this year with running and working. Plus it's fifth year, and that means big exams for you..."

"And OWLs for you," she interjected.

George snorted. "Which aren't nearly as important to me as your exams are to you, tutor-kissing, school-loving prat that you are."

"Maybe they should be," she scolded, carefully waiting until after he unloaded the last shovelful of dung into the bag before she did. "An education is a useful thing to have, you know."

"Ugh. The mere thought of another year of any of it turns my stomach," he moaned.

"You don't fool me for a second. You spend far more time skiving off than you ever do sitting in a classroom," she teased.

George smiled. "Burbage must think we teeter at death's door, even if she only believes half our excuses," he said with a laugh. "So, you'll do it, then? Collect some ingredients for us?"

"On one condition," she replied.

"Here it comes," George sighed, dropping his shoulders and lifting his eyes toward the heavens.

"You have to let me try everything you invent," Annie insisted. "By all means, test it on yourselves first. But before it gets released to the public, I get to sample it. Promise?"

"It's your stupid mistake to make, mate. But I promise," he said, chuckling.