Just Like Old Times

Chapter 21: Just Like Old Times

May 1996

Annie and George had planned to meet, just the two of them, back at the tree fort the following Saturday afternoon.

Annie had been distracted from her chores all that morning in anticipation. Consequently, a red sock somehow found its way into a wash load of whites. Annie pulled out the newly pink skivvies and sheets from the machine and berated herself in embarrassed anger.

Her Gran had laughed in an attempt to abate Annie's overly harsh tirade of self-criticism. "No worries, dear. Pink's an improvement, don't you think?"

The overcast morning had turned to drizzle by lunchtime. Annie bustled about, fixing lunch and pulling together most of dinner as well for her Gran. After she cleared the dishes, she went to her room excitedly to dress for her afternoon date with George. Her excitement quickly dissipated when she realized her raincoat would cover her entirely, so what was the use of wearing anything special?

Gran raised an eyebrow when Annie popped into the doorway of her bedroom to say goodbye. "I'm off for a bit," Annie said lightly. "Supper's in the fridge. Don't wait up – I could be a bit late, not sure."

"Fancy a soggy afternoon stroll, do we?" Gran smiled a smile that told her granddaughter that she was not fooled in the least.

Annie shrugged, barely stifling a smile herself.

"Bye, then."

George had arrived at the tree fort early. He'd wanted to stash a surprise there for Annie for later, but wasn't sure if the weather would cooperate. He'd then leaned against the tree trunk, waiting for her. He watched her approach once she came into view, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

Annie smiled brightly when she saw him. Her hood was down, her curly hair dripping already, collecting the drizzle. And those eyes – he found himself staring at them and looked away in embarrassment.

"Fancy a soggy stroll?" he asked.

Annie laughed out loud. "Gran just asked me the same thing as I was leaving!"

Her friendly laughter put him at ease. It was like old times yet even better as he took her hand, and they started walking in no particular direction. After a few minutes more of teasing banter, he felt her thumb rubbing the back of his hand in the same place, over and over. She lifted it up to her face to get a better look.

"What's this? Some sort of sick joke?" she asked. There was a deep concern on her features as she examined the scar Umbridge's torture pen had given him.

"That's exactly what it is," he said as he laughed sarcastically.

He considered for a moment whether it was a good idea to tell her all that had happened during his last year of school. He had only hinted at the troubling events in his letters, trying to spare her the worry. He wasn't entirely sure he understood all the ramifications himself.

Then he looked into her face. Her beautiful violet eyes were troubled – the eyes he had seen every night in his dreams for so long now. He wouldn't be able help it; he could see that now. He would spill his guts to them whether he wanted to or not.

George shrugged. "She's a right nasty bitch, that Delores Umbridge."

"I never understood what she was doing at Hogwarts. You and Fred always said it was so safe there," Annie said, puzzled.

"Used to be safe as kittens for the most part... until a year ago. The end of the Tournament changed everything. You remember what I told you then?"

She nodded. "That a student was murdered. A bad wizard came out of hiding." She shuddered to remember the letter that had nearly ruined her sanity last summer.

"Everyone calls him You-Know-Who; let's just say it's not a good idea to speak the name out loud. Anyway, our mate Harry saw the whole thing: some foul bit of Dark magic gave You-Know-Who a body back, and then all his old toadies came sniveling back to lick his boots. He killed Cedric. Tried to kill Harry, too, but he escaped."

"If a kid like Harry could get away, then surely he can't be as powerful as you think..." she said, struggling to understand.

"Nah, that's not it, see? He's killed loads of people – but not Harry. Tried before... loads of times. You-Know-Who has it out for Harry for sure – his whole life since he was a baby – but he always manages to get away. Something special about him... dunno what."

"So, Umbridge belongs to him? This You-Know-Who person?"

George snorted. "Not quite, but she'd make a lovely addition to the club, no mistake. She's with the Ministry."

Annie's shocked, confused look prompted him to explain further.

"Ever since last summer, the Ministry have been trying to discredit Harry, to deny You-Know-Who is back. Reckon that's why Umbridge was there at Hogwarts: to make sure we all swallowed the lies. Dunno why they're doing it exactly, but it's a fat load of bollocks. Makes those of us who know the truth pretty nervous to boot."

"I still don't understand why this Umbridge was torturing you."

She caressed his scar again with her fingertip. It made him shiver slightly.

"Oh, well, that's because my mates and I decided not to partake of the bullshit pudding she was serving up. We took matters into our own hands, so to speak," he explained, grinning.

George then regaled her with the story of how Harry had taught them to defend themselves from Dark magic attacks. How they were able to avoid detection. How even the castle itself seemed to help them by providing them a secret room to hide in. He watched as the worried look on her face was replaced by impressed surprise while he described their accomplishments. He paused for a moment to bask in her delighted expression.

"And then, I presume, you got caught," she said ruefully as her face fell slightly.

George grimaced. "Yes, well, thanks to a snitch, the fun was over for a bit. But we got our revenge, Fred and me."

"I want to hear every detail of how you punished the evil cow that did this to you," she said, a ferocious tone underlying her voice. She ran her finger once more along his scar.

Annie's thoughts were roiling. That Umbridge woman was lucky I hadn't been there at Hogwarts, she fumed.

Annie could feel a familiar angry heat spreading through her body, inciting her to violence. She swallowed hard and tried to calm herself in the way she had practiced so many times before that it was nearly rote. But her thoughts could not be easily turned this time. How dare that... that bloody witch... harm her dearest friends?

"Your concern is very touching," George said teasingly as he smiled.

He watched as the well-known expression came over her face – that prelude to an outburst of violent temper – with something close to wry amusement. Her chin jutted out, lips slightly parted. He recognized her attempt to rein herself in as deep, calming breaths filled her chest, slightly flaring her nostrils. And her eyes – they glittered dangerously. He found himself momentarily mesmerized by them like a deer in headlights, not unlike how he had been a few times as a boy as a direct target of Annie's flaring wrath.

But this time was different: the rage wasn't directed at him but rather at someone else on his behalf. He could not resist the urge to gingerly reach out a hand to touch her face, to kiss her for her fury that was so endearing this time.

Annie heard George say something, but the meaning of his words didn't register. She was distracted, still struggling to dissipate her anger. Out of the blue, she felt a whisper of pressure – of fingers on her lips. Her faraway mind instantly dialed into the sensation.

Her eyes, which had been staring out at nothing in the distance, brought George's face into tight focus. She registered that it was closing in on her, but her mind immediately disregarded the movement as a threat. She felt his fingers slide lightly over the flesh of her scalp as he bent to kiss her.

In the space of the following heartbeat, her body redirected the anger-adrenaline into this new physical outlet. The hands which had been itching to throttle something now curved themselves behind George's neck, pulling him closer, returning the kiss.

George was momentarily startled by Annie's reaction to his intention of delivering a barely-a-kiss brush of his lips on her forehead: she had grabbed his neck and pulled him down to her lips instead. He could feel her fingers in his own hair, curled around the back of his skull. Her body rose to meet his, closing what was already a tiny distance in a heartbeat.

Her kiss was much stronger than his, almost fierce. He made no hesitation, however, to join her. Uncounted minutes passed as they kissed with a passion that had taken them both by surprise.

Last weekend, their first kisses had certainly been exciting; yet they had also remained tentative, gentle, bordering on polite. In contrast, this was almost frightening in its intensity. It was hard and messy and grasping. Two years of forced separation, desire and fantasy were finally tapped, venting a pressure that had been building night after longing night they had spent apart.

After a while, once the worst of that pressure had been spent, they felt themselves returning to a semi-normal, more human state. Annie released him first, gently pushing herself away slightly from his embrace.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be a tease," she said breathlessly.

Oh. Right. She would be able to feel that, of course. He chuckled embarrassedly and smiled bashfully, which helped to further ease the tension as he took a step back, separating their bodies completely.

"Don't apologize, please. I don't mind... if you don't," he stammered. Despite his body's evidence to the contrary, he was not ready to take that leap forward so soon, either. He was relieved to discover Annie felt the same. "It would be horrible if I couldn't kiss you at all, though," he added, planting a comparatively chaste kiss on her cheek.

Annie giggled as she nodded in agreement. "Would it help you to know that I feel the same? That you're driving me just as mad?"

"Yes, actually, it does. A lot, in fact," he laughed, immensely pleased by the news.

"Maybe we should keep walking?" she suggested. "You were about to tell me how you revenged yourself on the vile Umbridge."

"Right. Well, with Dumbledore sacked...." He paused as he saw Annie raise her eyebrows in shock again. He nodded, his expression mirroring hers, acknowledging what had been his own surprise at the turn of events. "Fred and I decided there was no point in hanging around Hogwarts, twiddling our thumbs, waiting to get buggered ourselves. It was time to move on, we reckoned. We had already made a tidy mess of galleons from the Snackboxes and the rest. Combined with the stake Harry gave us, we were finally set to go on our own."

"Hang on.... Harry gave you money?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, last summer! It was a shock, believe me. Harry won the Triwizard Tournament technically, even though it all went to shit after. The prize was a thousand effing galleons, no less! And the nutter gave it to us, all of it, right there on the train back to London. Felt guilty, he said, about what happened to Cedric, and didn't want the money. Cracking bloke, Harry. Completely mental, but a good mate, all the same."

"You two are the luckiest gits on the planet!" she mused in wonder. "How do you do it? Most people with your track record are on the run from the devil or the law."

"Whatever are you implying? My brother and I are pillars of the community! We're respectable entrepreneurs, I'll have you know," he argued with mock indignation.

"Yes, yes. You and Fred are nothing if not angelic," she said sarcastically.

"It's not all down to good looks. Our success is attributable to loads of hard work," he teasingly protested.

"Usually other people's hard work," she argued with a laugh, knowing the jab was false.

"Well, you're nitpicking now," he grumbled good-naturedly.

George spent the next twenty minutes relating in minute detail the conflagration he and Fred had detonated at Hogwarts the day they'd left it for good. Annie loved watching his animated face describing each of the different kinds of fireworks: what they looked like, how they worked. It all sounded absolutely brilliant. She begged him to show her in person someday.

He promised he would. "We'll have to find someplace remote. They're a bit loud and try to escape, you see."

Then, apparently, he and Fred had felt it necessary to conjure some sort of boggy mess in a castle corridor. His younger brother had written him to say the professor in charge of clearing it up had left a bit of it for posterity's sake, it was so impressive.

"Which hasn't spoiled your humble nature at all, I can see," she groaned with a roll of her eyes.

George shrugged and laughed. "So what have you been doing for the past two years?" he asked her.

"The life of a lowly Muggle isn't nearly as exciting as that of a wizard's," she answered.

George rolled his own eyes impatiently and butted her with his hip.

Annie stumbled a few steps, laughing. "Mostly just the same old stuff. It's been dreary and boring without you two. Jane is off at Cardiff, studying to become an architect. My old mates," and she reckoned she used the term 'mates' in the loosest way possible, "and I never really spend much time together anymore. They formed a band a while back. Not a hair of original musical talent in the lot of them, though. Their primary aspirations are to make loud noise by playing cover songs and attract groupies."

"You're not one of them, I hope," he said scoldingly.

Annie snorted and smirked in answer to his ludicrous suggestion. "Lacking in suitable troublemaking companions, I got a respectable job. I spend my days now working for Dr. Dan, the dentist. Don't laugh, that's honestly his name. I run a few days a week. Otherwise, I try to be at home with Gran as much as possible."

"How is she, your Gran?" George asked.

"She's well for seventy-eight years old. Still gets out a little with her garden ladies, putters a bit outdoors. Her mind's still keen. She knows something's going on, by the way, with me skiving out of the house two weekends in a row."

George smiled. "Surely that won't be a problem for the infamous Annie: Sneak Extraordinaire? I overheard you dodging her last week, remember?"

Annie shook her head. "I can manage Gran. She's not concerned, just curious. She'll be asking to meet you soon," she said, wanting to test the waters.

George nudged her with an elbow. "I can behave in polite society, you know."

"And how would I know that? Not from personal experience, surely!" she cried.

"Well, I never really considered you to be polite society, did I?" he explained.

Annie's hand darted under his arm, and George grunted in pain from the vicious pinch.

"I knew you couldn't go another day without inflicting bodily harm, you malevolent little rat. Ow!" He rubbed the painful point where she had pinched him. "You'll pay for that one," he muttered, but she had already dashed away.

He caught up to her easily, which he knew meant she wasn't trying very hard to get away. He wouldn't actually inflict pain in retaliation, unlike when they were children, but he would have to do something in order to salvage his self respect. He immediately targeted her hair – she had always been vain about her hair.

He put her in a firm hold, pinning both her arms with one of his. She was laughing as she weakly squirmed to escape. He mussed her hair with his free hand, tugging just a bit on a few curls.

"Get off!" she whined after a minute, and he let her go. "Not fair! You know hair is out of bounds!"

She hauled off to smack his arm, but he caught her wrist and held it, smiling.

"Weak," he chided. "You're not even trying."

Annie clawed playfully at his large hand clamped around her comparatively delicate wrist. He grabbed that one, too, holding them both a foot apart.

"Claws in, puss," he teased.

She pretended to bite at his fingers: her bared teeth gently closed on his thumb as her smiling eyes gleamed teasingly. He pulled her arms above her head in response.

"Wish I had a rope. Hang on... I guess I could just conjure one right up, now, couldn't I? Tie you up and leave you here for the crows to pick at."

"You wouldn't dare!" she laughed.

Her cheeks were flushed and smiling from the rough play. A bit of setting sun began to peek from behind the clouds and lit her up with warm light. Her dark hair shone with red streaks, and her eyes glittered once more.

George shifted his hold on her wrists to free one of his hands. This one he now slipped around her waist and gently pulled her closer. In response, her playful grin softened into something more expectant. When he finally released Annie's imprisoned hands, they fell gently to his shoulders.

They kissed for a while. It wasn't as frantic as earlier in the day, but still less tentative than a week ago. Not quite as shy – more confident, this time. Their hands grew braver as well, resting in places that would have been deemed impertinent before.

"I've got a surprise for you," he whispered when the sun had completely gone below the horizon. The sky still glowed brightly with reddish-purple light. He laughed as he saw her wary expression. "Come on, don't be chicken," he teased.

"I've learned the hard way to be gun-shy of your surprises," she laughed and dragged her feet a bit as he led her back toward the fort.

"Close your eyes," he said when they reached the willow tree.

"No."

"Trust me," he cajoled.

"Not bloody likely."

"Fine, then. Do something profitable with your time and watch my arse while I climb up here to get it." George launched himself up into the tree and reached into the fort with one arm.

Annie could not see what it was he removed from the little ramshackle fort, and he kept it well-hidden as he hopped back down to the ground.

"Fancy a bit of flying?" he asked, eyebrows cocked like he was daring her.

Annie felt a thrill of excitement. "How?" she asked eagerly. She stood on her tiptoes attempting to peek around his body at the mystery object.

"That's more like it," he joked, pleased in the end with her enthusiastic reaction. He produced a broom from behind his back.

Annie's eyes grew wide as she took in the odd-looking thing. She had seen them before in photos, of course. She had even seen George flying on one once, but she would never confess it to him in her lifetime. She took it reverently from him and held it in front of her to better examine it. Curiously, with the footrest-type thing near the base, it somewhat resembled a pogo stick, she thought.

"Wanna have a go?" George asked.

"Absolutely! How do I fly it?" she asked enthusiastically.

"You can't, silly girl. I didn't mean on your own. With me."

Annie's face fell slightly. George took the handle back from her and straddled it, then motioned with his hand for her to come to him.

Suddenly, Annie felt unsure about the plan. Her face must have shown it because George teased her about it.

"You're not scared," he chided her.

"Dubious is not the same as scared. Where am I supposed to sit?"

"Right here." He indicated a spot on the broomstick just in front of him.

"Like this?" Annie tried to straddle the broomstick in the same manner. But there was no place for her to brace her feet; she would be dangling in midair, balanced on the broomstick, supporting all her weight directly on her crotch.

"Erm, no, that won't do..." he muttered, trying to find an arrangement that would allow them to get airborne, at least. "Okay, not that either. I can't see around you now. Hang on, get off a sec.... Here, try this way...."

Clearly, George had not tried this with anyone before. Annie was slightly mollified that no one else had rated an attempt prior to her, but that feeling was quickly overwhelmed by the nervousness she felt at being the guinea pig.

Annie ultimately found herself sitting sideways with both hands on the broomstick in front of her, sort of sidesaddle. George was astride directly behind her, supporting her back with his chest, steadying her as she pressed against him, and would be steering the broom with his hands just behind hers. They were both hunched forward a bit awkwardly, and his chin was nearly resting on her shoulder.

"Are you completely sure about this?" she asked.

"Utterly," he assured her, his expression one of disbelief that she could ever doubt him. "I am quite good at flying this thing, you know."

George pushed off the ground, and they lunged upward into the air with the force of his kick. Annie wobbled a bit, but George corrected for it expertly. They rose slowly and steadily, following the pathway of clear air directly above the river until they reached the tree tops. He skimmed just above the treetops, picking up a bit of speed as they headed away from the village.

Annie thought it was exhilarating. Terrifying, too, as he started to swoop a bit, dipping under a branch here, darting around a tree there. She had to admit he was quite good at flying the broom. Their flight was utterly smooth, his body and arms supporting her whenever they changed course. It was the most amazing feeling of freedom: to be moving through midair with nothing but his arms surrounding her.

They were now flying over the Weasleys' orchard, where Annie had paid dearly for sneaking a peek at the boys playing Quidditch years ago. Fred was there, below them on the ground, with a broom resting on his shoulder. She wondered if maybe he was going to join them.

"Oi, Fred!" she shouted down to him as George circled in the air.

Fred looked up in surprise and waved once he located the voice. George directed their broom to dive down toward his brother, forcing him to hit the dirt in order to escape a collision. He and Annie were both laughing as they sped skyward again, circling around for another go.

Swearing as he jumped back to his feet, Fred grabbed a rotten apple on the ground and chucked it after them in retaliation. It missed them completely and fell harmlessly into a tree filled with sparrows. The birds protested the intrusion and took flight en masse.

George and Annie were still laughing when a hundred tiny bodies suddenly swirled around them. George tried to maneuver out of the flock, but the birds seemed to center their movements on them, tightly orbiting around the two of them on the broom. Annie felt a few of their little bodies pelt painfully into her.

George momentarily lost control of the broom, trying to dodge down and away from the birds. Annie then lost her already delicate balance and began to lean to one side. Unfortunately at that exact moment, George had chosen to let go of the broom with one arm to swat at the birds. Without George's arm to catch her, Annie tumbled backward. One hand came loose as she fell.

Annie now hung precariously from the broomstick by her knees and one hand.

George managed to regain a little control over their flight a moment later as the sparrows had finally dispersed, alighting in another tree, but it was difficult because Annie was swinging, throwing off all his attempts at balance. He tried to pull her back up with his hand but quickly discovered he needed both hands on the broom to steer as they almost crashed into a tree. She managed on her own to get her other hand back on the broomstick at least.

Annie thought quickly. It occurred to her that she had been in this identical position probably ten thousand times before during the hours she had been forced by her Gran to spend at the playground in Ottery. Dangling by just her knees, she had practiced flipping herself off the monkey bars daily for about seven years at least. It seemed like a reasonable solution to her now.

"Let go!" she shouted to George, who was trying to hold on to her legs and steer the broom at the same time. "And look out!" she warned.

"What!?" George cried.

"Trust me!" she yelled.

She let go of the broomstick with her hands as soon as she felt George release his grip. As her body swung down, she felt the broom lurch. She swung her arms back behind her head for momentum, kicking out with her feet, and felt her knees release the broomstick.

"Annie!" she heard two panicked voices yell in tandem.

The aspect of the plan she had failed to account for was the difference in altitude, she realized far too late, her body rotating as it fell through the air. The monkey bars in the park had been about six feet from the ground, whereas the broom was closer to twelve, maybe more. She felt her body over-rotate, but didn't have an opportunity to compensate.

Instead of landing solidly on the balls of her feet, as she reliably had done on the playground, she barely caught land with her heels. Unable to scramble backward quickly enough on her feet to correct herself, she hit the ground hard, flat on her back. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of her.

Seconds later, both boys were at her side.

"Annie?" George had a frantic look. His face was closest, and she felt his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't move her!" Fred barked, searching her face from slightly farther away. She could see he was angry and afraid.

Annie's eyes and mouth were wide open, struggling to draw air back into her empty lungs. She couldn't tell them she was fine, that nothing was seriously hurt. Maybe I could try to nod or something, she thought.

She looked up into their faces, attempting to nod. But she could only see George's face; Fred was now looking away toward her feet, inspecting her for additional damage.

"She's moving her head!" George cried. "Are you all ri-ARRGH!"

Fred had responded to George's exclamation by spinning back toward Annie's face. The brothers' heads then collided with a loud crack.

"You stupid git!" yelled George, hand pressed to his eye socket.

"You bloody idiot!" countered Fred, clutching his forehead and reeling backward.

At that instant, air finally rushed back into Annie's lungs. A moment after her brain registered the delicious sensation of a chest full of air, she blew the breath back out in a loud guffaw. She couldn't help it, even though it was quite painful. She began laughing hysterically.

"You addled her brain!" Fred accused his brother with a violent shove.

"Annie? Did you hit your head?" asked George in a worried tone, scrambling back to look her in the eye with the one of his that wasn't screwed shut from pain.

"You.... The birds.... I fell... on my arse... then you two... cracked heads...." She was laughing so hard tears were running down her cheeks.

Fred was smiling now. "She's rung her bell a bit, that's all," he chuckled, still rubbing the bump on his forehead.

"Did you see that?" she squealed with glee as she sat up, George's arm immediately around her back for support. "I flipped off that effing broom in midair, goddamn it!"

George, too, began to chuckle now. "That was bloody impressive. Stupid, but impressive, I'll admit."

"Poor Fred. Gave you quite a fright, didn't I?" she laughed.

"Shut it," he said with a playful shove to her shoulder.

"Get off!" George angrily shoved his brother back.

"Now, now, don't quarrel over me, boys," she teased. "Fred, it's been lovely to see you, mate. Hope your head feels better in the morning."

"No harm done. Drop in again anytime," he chimed in, a sarcastic smile lighting up his face.

Annie and George groaned in unison at the horrid pun. George began gingerly probing his brow ridge, examining the damage and wincing.

"George, I think we'd better start walking back. No, I'm not getting back on that thing tonight," she said as he brandished the broom. "I'd prefer to keep my feet on the ground for the rest of the evening, thank you."

George proffered his hand to help her to her feet. She took it and didn't let go as they made their way back to her house through the rapidly darkening woods.