Year 6 at Hogwarts

Author's Note: There are grammatical and punctuation errors in the correspondence portions of this chapter that are intentional, dear readers, reflecting the maturity level and mood of the sixteen-year-old pen friends. They are entirely my own fault and not that of the lovely admins here at TPP.

Chapter 17: Year 6 at Hogwarts

1994 – 1995

6 September, 1994

Annie

George stared out the window, chin in his hand. Rain was beating on the outside of the panes, and the moist heat produced by the classroom full of students was steaming them up from within. Flitwick's monotonous voice droned on about some complicated theory or other, making it impossible for several of the students to resist daydreaming, if not falling asleep outright.

George Weasley was one of those daydreamers. He had always been gifted with a particularly vivid imagination, which was facilitated by a high level of distractibility when bored. At this particular moment, he was imagining he was lying on warm sand as a cooling sea breeze blew over him. It was the furthest thing possible from this god-rotten, soggy, freezing place, he reckoned. And as a result of his gift, he could now smell the brisk salt air. The sound of the ocean waves lapping on the shore began to drown out the professor's voice.

He heard a familiar giggle next to him and turned to see the smiling face of his best friend. The joke she had told him one afternoon that summer now came to mind, and he could hear the words in her voice....

"A little old lady goes to the doctor and says, 'Doctor, I have this problem with wind, but it really doesn't bother me too much because they never smell and are always silent. As a matter of fact, I've farted at least twenty times since I've been here in your office.'

"The doctor says, 'I see. Take these pills and come back to see me next week.'

"The next week, the poor old dear goes back to his office. 'Doctor,' she says, 'I don't know what you gave me, but now my farts, although still silent, stink horribly!'

"So, the doctor says, 'Ah, good. Now that we've cleared up your sinuses, let's get to work on your hearing!'"

They had both laughed together.

"It's really about you, isn't it?" he had teased her.

"What? Did you just say something? Speak up, why don't you?" she had teased back, giggling even more.

He smiled just thinking about it again.

Suddenly, a wadded up piece of parchment hit him, startling him out of the reverie. He surreptitiously unwadded it, recognizing his brother's handwriting. It contained one word: Gillian?

George sighed and shook his head. He much preferred to be thinking of having fun with Annie and Fred at the beach. That was a far cry, to be sure, from the sticky situation he'd found himself in after last night with Gillian.

The disturbing conversation in the park between Fred and Annie last summer had stuck like a thorn in his side for months. Both his twin brother and best friend had confessed they'd already experienced their first kisses (thankfully not with each other) as long ago as last year! George had been feeling rather left out ever since.

He'd made the decision to remedy the discrepancy as soon as possible this term and singled out a tall, blonde, sixth-year Ravenclaw girl for the job. She'd seemed interested in him as well, at least at first. They had sat together a few times in the library to study – although the fact that he was willing to pretend to study in a library should have told him something about his desperation level. They had held hands while taking a walk one afternoon, which had led to what George hoped it would: his first kiss.

Which surprisingly had been quite a disappointment, for some reason he could not fathom. It had been sort of... cloying and flat... like a can of Muggle soda left open overnight. His experience had not fit at all with what Fred had described. He couldn't understand it; she was good-looking and a nice enough girl. What had he done wrong? Maybe Fred had been exaggerating after all....

But then, he'd found himself stuck. Ever since they had kissed, Gillian seemed to think the relationship was now destined for something serious. That they even had a relationship at all. And he, in turn, had begun to see a side of her that wasn't attractive in the least.

Last night, he had been escorting her to the Ravenclaw dormitory tower after dinner at her request – which was stupid, in his opinion: she had been here six years and could get there just fine without him – when she had unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a burp.

"You don't want to bottle that up," he had teased her, smiling. "What if you explode?" No harm intended – just having a bit of a laugh, he had thought at the time.

She'd looked at him, horrified. "What are you talking about?"

"You belched. Excuse you," he laughed, thinking she was putting him on.

Suddenly, her face started to screw itself up. Oh, Merlin, he thought, appalled, she's going to cry!

"No, I didn't!" she protested, sounding hurt and angry.

"Okay," he replied, confused and beginning to feel a bit defensive. "My mistake. Sorry."

He'd thought he'd successfully smothered the majority of sarcasm in his voice. Evidently, he hadn't.

"I'm tired," she said resentfully. "I'd better go inside now."

I don't believe it, he marveled. She's pissed at me! Because she burped and I heard it! There had been no offer of a kiss goodbye, unlike the other nights before.

"Yeah, me as well. It's a bloody long walk back to Gryffindor from here, anyway," he said testily.

Gillian's eyes narrowed. "Sorry to be so much trouble," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe you shouldn't bother anymore."

George had looked at her then, incredulous. How had they gotten to this point? She had belched, he had laughed, and now she had turned into some sort of bitchy thing. For the simple reason that she was human and he had witnessed it?

Gillian had turned and gone into her dormitory, leaving George standing there like an idiot. An angry, confused idiot.

He had stormed off a second later, vowing never again to spend a moment with Gillian or any other stupid twit like her. Throughout the long walk back to his dormitory he had fumed, arguing in his head. He would swear off women, if necessary. Maybe Charlie's on to something – preferring dragons to females.

Sitting there in Flitwick's classroom, he pondered the ridiculousness of the situation once more. What was so criminal about a burp? he wondered. Hell, his sister Ginny could produce one better than that. Annie could say the alphabet all the way to H, once even to K, in one go.

All at once his mood became brighter, and he was off again on another pleasant daydream trip to the beach with his friend, remembering the belching contests the three of them had any time they got their hands on Muggle soda. Just last summer, when they had been camping together on the beach, Annie had brought an ice chest full of the fizzy stuff along. He recalled sitting around the moonlit campfire one night, all three of them ripping off eruptions that could've woken the dead. He and Annie had even tried to sing in harmony while they'd belched "God Save the Queen." What a riot that had been!

I wonder if I could bottle this? he mused. Perhaps he could come up with a charm to conjure daydreams. He considered tossing Fred a note, then decided instead to ask him later in person what he thought about the possibility. Might be worth a bit of gold, if done right....

1 November, 1994

Annie

George was alone in the dormitory. Everyone else had dressed themselves up like idiot penguins and pranced down to the Great Hall for the Yule Ball an hour ago. Everyone except the children. And himself.

He wasn't entirely sure why he had decided not to go. Fred had been badgering him for days, suggesting possible dates. But George had found an excuse not to ask every one of them. Too tall. Too blonde. Too skinny. He had to admit his last excuse was the lamest yet: the poor girl's hair was 'too straight.'

Fred's eyes had narrowed at that one. "So, let me see if I've got this right: you like petite, brunette, shapely girls with curly hair?"

George had had no idea where his brother was going with this line of questioning and had shrugged his shoulders in reply. But at least Fred had finally stopped annoying him about it.

"Suit yourself. Mope around all night for all I care. Just don't expect me back before dawn," he had said derisively.

Fine! All he knew was that he had no interest whatsoever in dancing with some twit of a girl just for an excuse to prance around in what amounted to a straightjacket. A girl who would likely pout all night if he made the slightest misstep. Or who couldn't take a bit of good-natured teasing. That sounded like torture, not fun. Thanks, but no thanks. Been there, done that, never again.

If he was moping – and he was damn sure he wasn't – it was probably because he was still quite disappointed there was no Quidditch this year. Or that he was sick to death of this boring, goddamn freezing cold castle.

Once again, he thought of the warm beach from this summer – the glorious sun, the sparkling bright sea, the exhilarating sailboard rides. He would so much rather be there with Fred and Annie, instead of this frigid stone tower that was little better than a prison.

She came to mind again, like she had hundreds times this term, whenever he was bored. He envisioned her smiling, friendly face laughing at their teasing jokes, then the awestruck look on her face when they had taken her to the Cannons match. Last summer had been a crack, for sure – driving around in that brilliant heap of her old truck.

He sighed, missing his home and his friend.

So, what am I doing, anyway? he asked himself.

He opened his trunk and started digging through it until he found the package from his latest trip to Zonko's. A plan was beginning to form in his mind: perhaps a booby-trapped bed or two might be just the thing to improve his mood. An empty dormitory was the perfect opportunity to take out his frustrations on a few unsuspecting victims, his twin brother first and foremost.

As he lifted the bag out of the trunk, a small envelope caught his eye.

George was perfectly familiar with what the envelope contained. If he had ever stopped to honestly examine himself, he might have noticed that he stumbled across this envelope at increasingly frequent intervals this past term. But he wasn't much for introspection, usually. He lifted out the envelope as well and pulled out the pictures.

He set the bag of pranks on the bed and grinned as he reminisced with the photos. He chuckled to himself, remembering Annie's first turn on the sailboard. She had fallen, what, ten times at least? And did she ever cry or sulk when he and Fred had teased her – and they were truly merciless, if he did say so himself – about it? Never. She usually gave as good as she got, he had to admit. Cracking girl, Annie.

Why couldn't everyone have a sense of humor like that? he lamented. Why couldn't more girls be like Annie? Smiling, giggling, feisty, easy-going, pretty....

Suddenly, there was no further need for introspection. It knocked him upside the head and gave him a sucker punch to the gut for good measure. He wasn't interested in nor could he stand to be with any of the girls here at Hogwarts, because none of them was Annie.

Laughing, fun-loving, petite, brunette, curvy Annie. Annie was the one he wanted.

Shit.

It hadn't been just a random flare of hormones that had bothered him last summer and went away soon after he came back to school, had it? Except for the dreams, he grudgingly acknowledged: the dreams about Annie had plagued him quiet a bit since then.

George's stomach turned in a knot. Fred was right! He had been moping around this term. Like a miserable lovesick idiot.

Bloody hell!

He crashed back onto his bed, pulling the pillow over his face. He heard the bag from Zonko's hit the floor and the items in it scatter. A vision of those lovely, sparkling violet eyes in a face framed by soft, dark curls came unbidden into his mind and refused to leave.

Five minutes passed and he had yet to move.

She was his best friend. This was stupid! It wasn't fair! He was royally screwed, that was for sure.

"ARRGH!" he yelled out loud in frustration.

A few seconds passed.

"Everything all right?" a puny voice called out from below.

"Sod off, you nosy little git!" he barked.

Twenty minutes later, he finally rose from the bed. He kicked the fallen Zonko items underneath it. He decided he needed a shower – preferably a cold one.

It was one in the morning before George got back to his room. He pulled out a piece of paper, laid it on a firm school book that likely had yet to be cracked open, and started to write.

Dear Annie,

George

He was tempted to bin it. Though he supposed it was no more or less stupid than all his previous letters. What difference did it make? He couldn't bring himself to write what he really wanted to tell her anyway.

Actually, come to think of it, he had. At the very end. He had always signed his letters this way. But now it meant something entirely different. It actually meant something.

10 January, 1995

Annie

Annie was on her knees, leaning onto the bed to write the letter. The skin on her lower back burned with pain from the fresh tattoo. How she would keep this a secret from her grandmother, she wasn't sure. For Gran was bound to be furious if she found out. Not to mention how much worse it would be if she ever saw what it was. She wouldn't understand, that was for sure.

But it was worth every penny, every painful millimeter, Annie reckoned. She had never seen anything so lovely: a glorious St. George in full body armor mounted on a white steed. His spear was piercing a dragon's heart.

"Can you give him ginger hair instead?" she had asked, handing the fellow the picture she had ripped from a book.

"Sure, whatever you want," the tattoo guy answered.

Yes, Gran would probably have kittens if she ever saw the patron saint of England tattooed on her granddaughter's lower back. It didn't exactly scream "Welsh Pride," now, did it?

But Annie knew it was perfect. The best Christmas gift she had ever gotten.

31 January, 1995

Annie

George had just begun reading Annie's latest letter the second time through, smiling at the thought of her going berserk on some poor twit and bashing her with a fistful of roses, when his brother spoke, interrupting him.

"You know, that Katie Bell is a right cute little bird," Fred mused.

George looked up to see his brother smiling warmly at the girl seated further down their house's table. He glanced at Katie, just in time to see her look away from Fred with a shy smile of her own, returning to her breakfast.

"Marching through the team now, are you?" George chided him.

Fred and Angelina had had a few more dates after the Ball. Or whatever you could call them, considering the limited options available, trapped as they all were in this crowded castle in the dead of a Scottish winter. But whatever it had been, it had fizzled since, and Fred was clearly moving on to new pastures.

"Watch yourself. You're not exactly covering your tracks very well, mate," he added for good measure.

They both glanced over at Angelina, who was staring at them sullenly. George felt sorry for her – being treated so shabbily by his brother – and for their friend, Lee, as well. It was no secret that Lee had fancied Angelina for ages now, and he was understandably sore that Fred had succeeded where he had failed. And now, George was caught in the crossfire, unable to defend his brother's actions, but unwilling to openly side against him, either.

"That's exactly why I'm moving on," he said, indicating Angelina's glum expression with a jerk of his head. "You snog somebody a few times, and they think they've got some sort of claim on you," he argued defensively. "Nutter," he added in a mumble.

"Imagine that," George retorted sarcastically. "Angelina upset at being dumped and forced to watch you make a move on someone new – what, has it been four days already? And who happens to be a teammate and friend of hers, no less? She's well shot of you, if you ask me."

"I'm pretty damn sure I didn't," Fred replied grouchily, then took a bite of breakfast. "That a letter from Annie? What's new with our very own little pet Muggle?" he asked cockily.

"She'd lay you out for that one," George laughed in spite of himself.

"She'll never hear it, will she? I'd never be stupid enough to say it in front of her," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"It's nearly her birthday. What should we do this year?" George asked.

"Believe it or not, I'm way ahead of you. Been pondering that very thing this morning, in fact. What d'you think about this...?"

*

Annie awoke on her birthday full of anticipation. The boys had never failed to remember it, and she couldn't wait to see what creative, hilarious gift she'd be getting from them this year. She had been reminiscing last night, perusing all the previous birthday gifts she kept carefully stored in a shoebox under her bed. Most people would probably not understand how precious the trading cards and little bits of parchment were to her. Not that she could ever show anyone, anyway.

She dressed in the dark and snuck out of the house, headed for the dilapidated tree fort. It had become a sort of glorified post box, over the years. The morning sun peeked between the horizon and the low layer of clouds for just a few minutes as she dashed across the field. It was a lovely sight: the forest was all lit up in rosy pink light.

Ten minutes later, she reached the willow tree and clambered up the branches.

There it was, lying on the floor of the fort. Her name was written in George's funny scrawl on the front where the address should be. She ran her fingers over it, tracing the trail left behind by his pen just a few hours ago, she wagered. After savoring that thought, then chastising herself for the pathetic-ness of it, she finally opened the letter.

It was a cartoon. Not just a drawing, but an actual animated cartoon. She had seen similar ones before – she was used to things moving that shouldn't actually be able to, in reality. But this one was an improvement: it talked as well as moved, like it had been imbued with a voice recording, somehow. She laughed out loud with pleasure at her newly favorite birthday gift ever.

First, two caricatures of George and Fred strolled into view on the parchment. They waved and shouted, "Happy birthday, Annie!" Next, they proceeded to sing a rather offensive version of the birthday song.

And for the finale, something that looked like a large, rounded W appeared in the center of the page and wiggled itself from side to side while a falsetto voice cried, "Give us a kiss!" The twin caricatures proceeded to noisily kiss the W, which then sported a banner reading "Annie's Arse" across the top. Two lip-prints now decorated the cheeks of the W, and each boy's voice called out, "Love you, Annie!" in turn.

How could any Muggle gift top that?

28 February, 1995

P.S. Ha Ha! I guess that last line could be interpreted in a few ways. I'll leave you to ponder which one I mean!

"So, then I decided to pierce my nose, nipples and navel," deadpanned Jane.

"Sorry, what was that?" asked Annie, shaking off a daydream involving a beach and a red-haired boy.

"Do I have your attention at last?" Jane laughed.

"Nipple is a word that usually rings alarm bells when heard, yes," Annie chuckled. She and her good friend were sitting in a café in Exeter, catching up during the spring holiday between terms.

"Where are you today?" Jane demanded gently.

"Sorry – I'll be good from now on, I promise. Start over and I'll listen this time. You can even quiz me after," Annie offered.

"I'd rather you tell me what's got you so distracted," Jane countered, concerned.

Annie sighed. "Do I have to? It's too pathetic and embarrassing."

"Okay, so we've established it's about a boy. Go on," Jane urged.

"Oh, God. Is it that obvious? Bloody hell..." Annie groaned.

"Spill it. I want details – now. Do I know him?"

Annie shook her head. "He lives nearby, but he's away most of the year at... a boarding school," she fudged. That was a believable explanation, she reckoned, and not altogether untrue. "We've hung out together, as friends mind you, since we were little kids. I told you it was pathetic," she said, wincing.

"I wouldn't go that far – yet. So you know him pretty well, and he knows you exist. Those are both points in your favor when it comes to crushes. That's what this is, isn't it?"

Annie nodded. "I suppose...."

"So what about recently? Since he started leaving for school?"

"Well, we've always kept in touch – writing letters – while he's been at school. And we hang out together during the summers when he's home."

"Letters? Really?" Jane exclaimed. "You don't hear that very often, anymore. Definitely another point in your favor. Anything mushy? In the letters, I mean."

"Not in the slightest," she laughed, recalling the latest one from her birthday.

"Tell me more about him," Jane requested.

"Well, he's tall...."

"You'd say that about everyone," Jane teased. "Hair?"

"Ginger."

Jane's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Eyes?"

"Two," Annie answered flippantly. "They're brown," she added a moment later as Jane scowled at her.

"Name?"

Annie sighed. No turning back, now. "George." There. She'd finally said it out loud. And survived. For the moment.

"Very nice. Respectable, classic name. So tell me about George's abundance of excellent qualities."

Another sigh escaped Annie. This was excruciating – talking about it. About him. "He's really clever. A smartarse, for sure, but also... sweet, sometimes. He's beautiful, but not self-absorbed – almost like he doesn't know it. Excellent sense of humor... adventurous... athletic...." Annie finally shrugged, not content with such a meager list, but unsure of what else to add.

"Too perfect. Either you're exaggerating, or he can't be real," argued Jane.

"I know what you mean," Annie agreed as she buried her face in her hands.

"What brought you to the sudden realization that he was so wonderful?" Jane asked.

"It was a long time coming, I think," Annie admitted, only just realizing the truth of her statement. "But the light came on for me last summer when we were camping at the beach."

"You and he went camping together? Overnight?" Jane squeaked in shock.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," Annie giggled. "We've been taking trips together like that for years, all perfectly innocent. His brother always comes along, anyway...."

"Still sounds scandalous, if you ask me. However did you get your Gran to let you go?"

"She doesn't precisely know the details," Annie confessed with a grin. "She made a few assumptions along the way, and I decided not to contradict her."

"Obviously," Jane scolded, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

"Anyway, that's sort of when it hit me." Annie moaned in distress and dropped her head onto the table.

"Like the broad side of a barn, by the look of you," Jane offered, sympathetically patting Annie's shoulder. "Do you think he's interested in you? Or could become so?"

Annie lifted her head. "I honestly don't know. There certainly wasn't any overt sign from him the last time we saw each other. Or in his letters this year. But maybe a few odd glances, last summer? There were a few awkward lulls in a conversation, here and there. Of course, this could easily be wishful thinking on my part," Annie lamented.

Another thought struck her, and she gasped. "Or even worse – maybe he could tell! What if he knew and was embarrassed for me? Oh God!" she sighed in defeat, hiding her face in her hands.

"If you feel so strongly, why haven't you said something to him?" Jane asked gently.

Annie shook her head vehemently. "Can't risk it. We were best friends first – the three of us. I can't bring myself to give that up for anything."

"You'll have to, eventually. Tell him, I mean," Jane counseled her.

"Maybe it'll just pass?" Annie asked hopefully.

"You don't really believe that – why should I?"

"He just... lives in a completely different world from me!" Annie cried, her worst fears about the situation gushing out of her. "And believe me, Jane, when I say I wish I meant that metaphorically! The people he knows – the girls like him at his school – I can't hope to compete. It's very intimidating."

"Don't sell yourself short, Annie," Jane urged her. "You're a beautiful, clever woman. And aside from his physical description, this George sounds like he could be your long lost twin."

Annie laughed at the irony of Jane's comment.

"I'm serious! You two sound like a great match. And I'll bet he knows it, if he's as clever as you say he is," Jane continued.

"You're biased," Annie chuckled, "at least to my face. Thanks, though. It's good to let it out: vent the pressure, a bit."

"Anytime. And I'll be ringing you every week this summer for updates and moral guidance. Have you made any plans with him yet? Any more infamous camping trips on the docket?"

Annie shook her head. "Nothing specific. But he has mentioned in the letters a few times about being homesick and wanting to get together again."

"See what I mean?" Jane exclaimed with a grin. "I'll bet he's just stewing there at school, feeling the same way about you."

Annie rolled her eyes at Jane's ludicrous suggestion. "Anyway, about those alarming piercings you were talking about...."

1 April, 1996

P.S. I absolutely love my birthday present! You two make the most adorable arse-kissers ever!

"Run, George!" Annie laughed.

He obeyed. He followed her through the familiar forest they'd grown up in, watching her body running, yet moving strangely slowly in front of him. Her graceful legs stretched themselves to meet the ground, and her back twisted from side to side as her arms swung from her shoulders with each stride. For some odd yet wonderful reason, she was wearing that bikini from last summer....

"Catch me!" she cried.

George ran faster, but she danced just out of his reach. Her laughing voice and glittering eyes taunted him.

Suddenly, she was gone. He was alone in the dark, quiet woods. "Annie?" he called out to her, begging her to come back to him.

"I'm right here, silly boy," she purred into his ear once again, standing behind him. Her hands began to caress his back and shoulders, just like before on the beach. The pleasure of it nearly drove him mad.

He couldn't stand it any longer. He spun around, caught her in his arms, and kissed her.

She was kissing him back. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her body press against his....

"Annie..." he mumbled, pulling her closer.

"George!" barked a new, groggy voice.

Not Annie. She disappeared instantly. As did the forest.

"Shut the hell up!" a male voice hissed quietly.

George was fully awake now. Fury mingled with mortification within him as he realized what had just happened. He was relieved beyond measure that Fred was such a heavy sleeper and was safely snoring away on the other side of the room. He shuddered to think of the consequences if his brother had heard him call out Annie's name in his sleep.

He hoped he could trust Lee to keep his mouth shut about this. But no matter what, Lee would pay dearly for interrupting that kiss. Even though George had had similar dreams for four nights running, he hated that this one had ended so soon.

George sighed, quietly this time, and began silently reciting Annie's latest letter from memory. His favorite part was that single line that would give him an excuse to see her more often than usual this summer. Maybe even every day, if he played it right.

Run with me, George....

The next morning was chilly and raining. He sat on his bed, alone in the dormitory with the blank page in front of him. In his mind, he composed a reply to Annie.

Dear Annie – Of course I will run with you. I want to chase you. I want to catch you, then I want to kiss you. Please kiss me back. Love, George.

That pretty much summed it up. It was a succinct outline of his recent dreams, at the very least.

Ugh. Revoltingly pathetic, not to mention disgustingly creepy. It made him want to punch himself, and further, he was sure Annie would be much obliged to do the job for him. Clearly, this was going to take some editing – maybe a few days worth of polishing the prose.

One thing was for sure: he wanted to send her a signal. He couldn't stand pretending anymore that everything was the same as it always had been for him. He had to let her know that he wanted to see her, to spend more time with her. Alone, if possible. Maybe if he could lay the groundwork now, it might make things a bit easier when he finally saw her again this summer....

Nothing. The blank page was stifling his brain. He couldn't get beyond "Dear Annie."

As he glanced out the window, he noticed the rain had stopped. Perhaps some fresh air would help clear his mind and improve his focus, he thought.

He decided to jog down to the Quidditch pitch. After all, if he was going to be running with Annie this summer, he'd better not embarrass himself in her presence by not being able to keep up.

4 May, 1995

P.S. I will be happy to restore you to "normal," for a small fee, that is, payable in advance.

Annie couldn't wipe the idiotic grin off her face. He'd said he wanted to go back to the beach with her! He'd called it heaven, echoing her own thoughts exactly. He was looking forward to seeing her again. And the best part of all: he promised to run with her EVERY GODDAMN DAY!

After screaming into her pillow like a twelve-year-old, she was able to calm down, become more rational. And that rationality lead to doubt. Of course, the offer to run every day was probably just teasing exaggeration. And who wouldn't prefer a beach to a crummy, cold, damp castle? She knew she ought to be more careful.

Don't get your hopes up too high, her brain tried to warn her.

Shut the hell up! her heart cried out. Stop ruining my buzz!

Even her rational mind had to admit, the tone of George's latest letter was... well, downright flirty, at least for him. She tried to picture him writing it, which was not difficult to do, considering the frequency with which she practiced the exercise. She added her favorite sly smile to his face as she watched him scribble away on the parchment in her mind. It was the one he usually wore in anticipation of taking the mickey out of her.

Annie sighed. Throwing herself back onto the bed, she read the letter for the twentieth time.

30 May, 1995

Annie