Ottery St. Catchpole

Chapter 22: Ottery St. Catchpole

Summer 1996

"Can't we just stay out here tonight?" begged Annie. Even a damp forest would be preferable to the previous plan; of that she was now sure.

"What's wrong with the pub?" George asked with a chuckle, certain she had to be joking.

Annie shrugged and looked away, which served only to make George suspicious. He was beginning to get the impression she was hesitant to go out in public with him for some reason. He hoped it was nothing more than her usual overreaction regarding the secrecy laws; she had always been jumpy when the three of them spent time in Ottery.

"Anyway, what are we going to do with this git if we don't?" He indicated Fred with a nod of his head.

His brother flipped him off in response.

Annie sighed. "Fine. I want it on record that I tried to avoid this; that's all I'm saying," she mumbled under her breath.

The three of them piled into her truck and headed into the village. It seemed a bit silly to drive such a short distance, but it was raining lightly, and they preferred to keep dry.

"What's so terrible you want to avoid?" George asked from behind the wheel.

Annie was sitting next to him, arms folded across her chest, staring anxiously out the windshield. Her current mood was really starting to annoy him. When had he ever given her reason to be embarrassed by him in front of other Muggles?

"Nothing much, really," she sighed. "I just ran into an old schoolmate this week. His awful band is playing there tonight and he asked me to come see. I told him I was busy...."

He rolled his eyes, dismissing her fears, feeling better now that he understood the reason behind her obvious discomfort. Glad it wasn't his fault, at any rate. "So, you'll get caught in a lie, big deal."

"We won't let anyone rough you up too badly, git," Fred assured her with a little shove to her head.

They arrived at the pub a few moments later. It was a tribute to the band's reputation that the three of them had little trouble finding seats in the back of the pub with barely ten minutes before the show was due to start. Fred wandered off to get drinks and chat up a couple of Muggle girls at the bar. Meanwhile, George and Annie sat together at the table.

He tried to tease her out of her nervous funk, which had only escalated since they had entered the pub, by telling her a few jokes from school. "A hippogriff, a unicorn, and a thestral all walk into a pub...."

It worked: she smiled and giggled at the punch line, finally relaxing a bit. Then the evening's performance began, and everyone's attention turned toward the makeshift stage.

"Blimey, they are rubbish!" George shouted into her ear during the second song. "You weren't kidding!"

She shot him an exasperated look that asked him: What else could you have possibly expected? Fred came back to the table then, bringing pints and a new companion for the evening. The four of them tried to chat politely despite the necessity of shouting across the table over the racket of the band.

Annie sat next to George, her stomach stewing in an annoying draught of nerves. Here they were, sitting in a pub in Ottery, bold as brass and begging for notice. In the ten minutes since they'd entered, she'd felt every pair of eyes in the room dart over to their table, instantly recognizing her. Universally, eyebrows peaked suspiciously a moment later when they failed to recognize her companions just as quickly. Somehow, she just knew it was going to get worse before it got better.

She toyed with the idea of pretending to get sick, cutting short the date entirely and sending the twins back to the safe obscurity of the Burrow. But she'd sensed that George was feeling a bit put out with her that she'd connived her way out of a public date every time he'd asked her out so far. For some odd reason, he liked spending time in the Muggle world and was usually fascinated with all the silly little gadgets that made life simpler for them in the ways magic couldn't.

Then Fred had dragged some blonde over to their table. Annie had recognized the girl from school, but didn't know much more than that about her. The twins looked mildly entertained by their surroundings for the most part, although George looked slightly preoccupied, like he was puzzling over something. Wonderful. Yet another reason to worry....

"Aren't they great?" the girl asked her, nodding her head to the beat.

Annie lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Is she serious? "Not really my cup of tea, I suppose," she said with a shrug.

"Didn't you and that Stephen bloke go out for a while?" the girl shouted across the table.

Fred and George instantly straightened up in their chairs and turned toward Annie. Fred was grinning like he'd just been handed a winning lottery ticket. George simply cocked his head to the side and looked at Annie expectantly.

She gritted her teeth. Shit!

"No," Annie sternly corrected the girl. "We used to hang out sometimes as a group but never dated," she said, emphasizing the last two words.

She wasn't surprised this girl had bought into the rumor that had circulated for most of Annie's high school career. Very few people hadn't, after all, but it was embarrassing to have it brought up at this particular moment in this particular company. Just one of the many reasons she would have preferred to stay away from here tonight.

"Oh," the girl answered with a confused look. "Which of them was it, then, that you were with?"

Annie narrowed her eyes and gave her a hard stare. Is she trying to start something, or just another stupid cow? Judging by the vacant eyes and smile, Annie decided the latter was most likely and gave her the benefit of the doubt. "None of them. Like I said, we just hung out. I didn't really date at all in school."

Stupid Cow took one look at George, then turned her eyes back to Annie. Her face lit up with false understanding. "Oh, okay," she said, then winked.

Annie took a long drink from her pint, then bit her tongue. She prayed for the strength to resist the urge to throttle Stupid Cow.

George put his hand on her knee under the table and squeezed it. Still furious, she refused to look at him. Instead she stared at the soundless television showing a soccer match, fuming silently. Why couldn't he have just listened to her and spared her this embarrassment?

The first set didn't last long. The band only had about twenty playable songs at last count, and she used the term 'playable' quite loosely. Of course Stephen, Geoff and Mike caught sight of her as they made their way to the bar during the intermission. They waved. She gave them a nod and a forced smile. While Mike remained there at the bar with what appeared to be his current girlfriend, the other two invited themselves to sit at Annie's table.

Annie's stomach turned. This is definitely getting worse. She wondered if George had brought his wand with him tonight and would he please make her disappear if she begged him insistently enough.

Stupid Cow looked overjoyed with the attention and made a big show of scooting more chairs to the table. She must not have noticed she was the only one at the table with such enthusiasm.

"Annie, love, good to see you!" and, "What trouble have you been into lately?" accompanied the pecks on the cheek and unwelcome hugs from her old school chums.

Please don't embarrass me, she silently pleaded them with her eyes.

"Stephen, Geoff, these are Fred and George, and... sorry dear, I forgot your name...?"

She couldn't resist antagonizing Stupid Cow by forcing her to introduce herself. She instantly regretted it when Fred gave her a mildly quizzical look, his eyebrow cocked ever so slightly.

Everyone shook hands all around the table.

"Glad to see you changed your plans," said Stephen. He began sizing up George immediately, since Annie was seated next to him. "How long have you known our Annie, then?"

Both George and Annie bristled to varying degrees at the possessive pronoun.

"A long time. Since we were kids," George explained in a quiet but strong voice now that the necessity for shouting had passed.

"Never seen you around school. You a relative?" Stephen asked, revealing the stunning depth of his ignorance about Annie.

She answered before George could open his mouth. "George and Fred grew up around here but went to boarding school," she explained with another forced smile as she pointedly nestled herself against George's shoulder. She hoped her body language would cut Stephen's interrogation short.

George added some of his own by draping his arm around her shoulders.

Stephen's eyes narrowed in response. "Boarding school, eh? Bit posh, are we?" Stephen nudged Geoff in the ribs with a laugh.

"Not really, no," disagreed Fred in a warning tone.

Stephen seemed to notice Fred for the first time. Realizing the odds were at least even, if not in fact against him – for the twin strangers did look a bit bigger than him, even seated – he took a different tack. "So, you've come back home to Ottery for a bit, then?" he asked.

George shook his head. "My brother and I have a flat in London above our business."

Stephen couldn't hide the fact that impressed him.

Annie wasn't satisfied, however. "You still at your mum's?" she needled him. "How is she now?"

"Yeah. Still at home...." Stephen chuckled. "What can I do, leave the poor dear home alone? You know what it's like, don't you, Annie?" he asked, pointing out the fact that she was in roughly the same boat as he was.

Annie smiled wryly but didn't answer. She took another drink from her pint instead.

"Did you hear Geoff and I joined the fire service?" Stephen added, perhaps hoping to impress her.

"No, I hadn't. Good for you two. A chance for you to make up for some of the stupid stunts you've pulled over the years," Annie offered, making it obvious she was not impressed in the least. And she meant it when she implied they owed something to the community for their dipshit behavior as juvenile delinquents.

Stephen then turned to Stupid Cow, recruiting her into his efforts. "Remember all those mad stories from school?" he asked her, trying yet another tactic: illustrating how he also had a shared history with Annie.

Annie cringed. How could he possibly think she looked back on any of it fondly?

But Stupid Cow was thrilled to be invited to join the conversation. "Ooh! You lot were so bad. Did you naughty boys really steal the cop car?" she squealed.

Stephen shrugged and smiled, clearly indicating to the girl that the tale was true. Then he turned his eyes back to Annie, looking at her like blackmail. "You remember that night, don't you, Annie?"

Annie glared back at him. Typical Stephen bullshit, she thought. His alpha male ego was feeling threatened by George's and Fred's presence, and he was taking it out on Annie. She didn't want to cause a scene, but she wasn't about to put up with it, either.

"Yes, I do. We boosted your cousin's squad car," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "Not unlike the many times we stole Geoff's mum's car. After which you lot used to drive around and dangle me as bait to get the pervs to buy us booze. That was a crack, for sure," she answered bitterly.

"You had your fun. Don't act like you didn't. Fed that little adrenaline addiction of yours," he chided, flashing a knowing smile.

As if, Annie thought with disgust. She rolled her eyes and refused to continue the discussion. She looked at George as if to ask if he was ready to leave.

George just sat there, reclined in his seat, arm casually about her shoulders, gazing at the bandmates as if he was utterly bored and unimpressed with the conversation.

She could see, though, that none of the tension between her and Stephen was escaping his notice. She felt a gushing swell of acid in her stomach, contemplating what he must be thinking.

She was rescued from further persecution by the barman toddling over to their table to shoo the band back to the stage for their second and final set. After they left, George leaned close to her in order to speak in her ear.

"You were right. We should have gone elsewhere."

Annie turned to smile at him with an eyebrow raised, relieved to hear his conciliatory, apologetic tone. She didn't resist when he put his hand gently on her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. Annie knew the uncharacteristic public display was for one person's benefit primarily, but she didn't care. Serves him right!

"I don't like him," he added into her ear before leaning back into his seat.

Annie leaned close to answer him, lips grazing his ear. "Stephen's harmless. Of course he's a complete prick: they all are. Bunch of gormless gits who used to make due as entertainment when you weren't here."

George smiled, apparently satisfied for the moment with her explanation. They sat for a few more songs, shouted a bit more with Fred and Stupid Cow about nothing in particular.

Then Stephen announced into the microphone that the next tune was to be the final song for the night and especially dedicated to his dear old girl, Annie. Her anger at his insulting possessiveness was tempered only slightly by the relief she felt that George seemed utterly unruffled by it. The band proceeded to mutilate what was a horrid rock ballad in the first place.

At least he has the decency to avoid playing his patented seduction song, Annie thought charitably as George stood up and led her to a spot on the sparsely populated dance floor in front of the band. He pulled her close, and they began to dance slowly while he made a point of kissing her frequently.

Annie felt no guilt whatsoever that George was using her to rub Stephen's nose in it. He had asked for it, after all.

*

Annie walked into the house that night to find Gran still awake and waiting for her at the table.

"Oh! Gran!" she exclaimed, startled to see her. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. Just fancied a cup of tea and a chat."

"I'm not late, am I? I thought we agreed on eleven," she said nervously, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"No, not late." Her Gran smiled reassuringly. "I'm just so happy to have you back again."

Annie's heart sunk. Would this mean she would have even less time to spend with George? Between both their work schedules and taking care of Gran, she felt she hardly got to see him as it was. "Is four hours of an evening too long for you?" she asked, concerned.

"More like a year. Maybe even longer, come to think on it."

Annie was confused and must have looked the part.

Her Gran smiled again and, reaching out for her hand, explained, "You've been so sad for such a long time now – since last summer, in fact. The light in your smile, the bounce in your step, all your joy seemed to have left you then. I thought it was my fault – that you were worried about my health. But now I see it was something more."

"Gran, of course I've been worried sick about you," Annie protested. "Don't be silly! Nothing in the world is more important to me than you. I owe you everything! And you're getting so much better now; it's been such a relief to me. But if you need me at home...."

"Now, Annie, I didn't mean it that way," Gran assured her. "I know how concerned you've been for me. And I'm not jealous, for heaven's sake. I'm not so insecure that I can't accept you developing romantic attachments. That's the natural course of things, love. I'd be far more worried for you if you weren't."

Romantic attachments? Oh, no... here it comes. Annie stared at her hands, unsure how to proceed, so Meredith did the talking for her.

"So, you're finding yourself falling head over heels for this young man.... Now, now, don't look so alarmed! I'm a very observant person and, believe it or not, felt the same way myself about a hundred years ago. That smile you think you're hiding from me – the one that brightens your face all day long now – I recognize it from personal experience, you see."

Annie hung her head and nodded sheepishly. Her Gran had her dead to rights.

"So... tell me about him already. What's he like?" she asked.

Annie shrugged, at a loss for words. "Perfect?"

Gran snorted. "He'd have to be – to be good enough for you. Oh, you poor thing! You're absolutely besotted, aren't you?"

Annie groaned and hid her face in her folded arms on the table. "Stop!" she begged from her hiding place.

Gran chuckled. "And this... what's his name, dear?"

"George," she mumbled from behind her defensive ramparts.

"This George, then. Does he feel the same?"

Annie sighed and peered over her arms at her Gran. "I think... maybe. Does anyone ever really know for sure?"

"Doesn't he tell you so?" Gran asked.

"Neither of us has really put anything into words. It's still too soon, I suppose. I don't want to scare him, you know?"

"Hmm. Maybe you need to involve a third party. A neutral observer could help you figure this all out," Gran suggested. Her eyes glinted with mischief.

"Meaning you, I suppose. I know what you're trying to do, you nosy old bint," Annie giggled.

"Well, of course I'd be happy to share my years of wisdom, use my keen eye to search for signs of lovesickness, and give this boy the once-over for you," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Gran!" exclaimed Annie, mortified by the thought.

"Tea, I think. Next Saturday. I want to meet George."

*

Annie had been a nervous wreck all day long, anticipating this moment. The two people she loved most in the world now stood awkwardly together in the kitchen, laying eyes on each other for the first time.

"Gran, this is my... erm... friend, George Weasley." She couldn't bring herself to say boyfriend – not in front of them, not out loud. "George, this is my grandmother, Meredith Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones," he said simply with a shy half-smile and a nod.

"And I'm so pleased to meet you, George. Please have a seat," she said, gesturing to the table. "Let's get to know each other, shall we?"

George looked almost as nervous as Annie felt. He moved to take a seat, then suddenly re-thought himself, paused, and pulled out the chair next to him, looking at Annie expectantly. She smiled at him reassuringly and sat down, reaching for his hand under the table once he was seated.

"Welcome to our home, George. I wish I could say Annie's told me all about you, but she's been rather selfish when it comes to sharing such details. Tell me, where do your people come from?" Meredith asked in a pleasantly curious tone of voice.

"Oh, erm, I suppose the Weasleys have been around here for a long time."

"Ah, a nice local boy. I'm not familiar with the name, though. But then again, having lived here for only the last fifty-nine years, I confess I am something of an outsider. You went to school here in Ottery, I suppose?"

"No, actually." He looked at Annie with a smile for what was now their private joke. "Boarding school... in Scotland."

"So, you've been away for a while, then?"

George nodded, and Annie jumped in. "We kept in touch – letters every once in a while when he was away," she explained for him.

"So, you didn't meet Angharad at school, then?"

"Ann-who?" George looked at Meredith with a confused look.

"Angharad." Meredith spoke with deliberate enunciation. When the baffled look on George's face persisted, she looked at Annie with alarm. "Do you mean to tell me this boy doesn't know your given name, girl?"

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, looking at Annie with amused shock.

"Gran, it's not a big deal, honestly." Annie squirmed under her grandmother's stunned, indignant stare. "The entire world knows me as Annie. You yourself never use Angharad unless I'm in trouble."

She turned next to George, explaining, "It's Welsh. Gran was born there – considers herself an ex-pat down here in Devon."

She turned back to face her Gran's stern gaze. "Could we please save the political fallout from this discussion for another time?" she begged.

Gran forced a smile back onto her disappointed face. "Of course. How rude of me. I didn't realize your proper name had developed such negative connotations. I'll be sure to use it more often in a positive light from now on, dear."

George stifled a snicker and gazed at Annie with newfound curiosity. As if he was wondering what else she might have hidden from him over the years.

"Now, George, I've been trying to impress upon Annie the importance of higher education, of her going to university. Are you off to college this fall?" Meredith asked him.

It was Annie's turn to stifle a giggle at the idea of George going to school any longer than he absolutely had to. Or helping her Gran talk Annie into going, either. Poor Gran was barking up the wrong tree there.

George shook his head as he took a drink of tea, the delicate little teacup dwarfed in his hand. "My brother and I are in business together."

"Oh, how nice. What sort of business?" Meredith asked, her disappointment tempered by her appreciation for his initiative.

"Erm...." George looked to Annie for help with this one.

She willingly chimed in, "George and his brother Fred have a shop in London and a mail order business, as well. They sell magic tricks, jokes, sweets, that sort of thing. Does really well, doesn't it?"

George nodded. "Pretty well. Fred and I were talking last week how we might expand to a second location early next year, maybe."

"That's wonderful news, George! Well done!" Annie said earnestly. She hadn't heard about this idea yet and was excited for her friends.

"Thanks," he said, a bit embarrassed.

A quiet ding of a bell interrupted the conversation.

"Oh, Angharad, that'll be the wash. Would you mind putting it out on the line, dear? I'd hate for it to sit in the machine and wrinkle. You don't mind, do you, George?"

Annie's eyes narrowed as she shook her head slightly at her Gran. I know what you're trying to do, she told her silently with her expression.

Gran lifted one eyebrow as she looked back at Annie, daring her to refuse.

Annie sighed in defeat. "Sorry to leave you to the wolf, George. I'll be back as quickly as I can to rescue you," she teased.

A moment later, Annie marveled at her Gran's cunning as she pulled every pair of socks, every hanky, every little dishrag they owned out of the washing machine. It would take her an hour to hang the hundred things she now had in the basket.

"You're a horrible old sneak, you are," she muttered into her grandmother's ear on her way through the kitchen to the back door with the basket of laundry. "Be nice to him," she warned, then kissed her on the cheek.

Annie banged the door shut behind her, and after they had listened to her stomp down the back steps, Meredith turned to George with a warm smile. "Don't worry, dear. You'll have no more third degree from me."

She rose from the table and motioned for him to follow, leading him into the front room. "I fully trust Annie's judgment, and she obviously thinks the world of you. I thought, perhaps, you might have some questions for me. If not, feel free to just sit and relax, and I'll leave you alone."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," he said politely.

George gazed around Annie and her Gran's small living room for the first time. Along with a collection of lamps, a radio, and a television that would make his father salivate, there were at least a dozen photos of Annie on the wall, all at different ages. He examined one of Annie as a toddler, her dark hair long enough to reach down her back, coiling in perfect little ringlets. He had never seen her with hair so long; she had always worn it short ever since he had known her. Her violet eyes looked huge in her baby's face.

"She was such a tiny thing, even then," Meredith offered, interrupting his thoughts. "Not even five pounds when she was born, if you can believe it. The doctors said it was likely she would be mentally retarded, maybe even blind, she was born so early. She came into the world so sick, so fragile. And now look at her – a force of nature, my Annie! Running everywhere all over town, hiking through the woods day in, day out.... She used to ride her bicycle all over hill and dale, when she was little."

George was stunned into silence for several moments. He'd had no idea Annie had physically struggled with anything in life. She had always seemed so strong and vital to him. He couldn't imagine anything in the world with power enough to lay her low.

"When I met her as a kid, I was a little afraid of her at first. She was so... strong, for such a little girl. And her temper...." He smiled with the memory.

"Yes, that temper. Not sure where that comes from. Her father, I suppose. She looks so completely different from anyone else in the family. Except the eyes – she has my own mother's eyes."

"Annie told me... a long time ago... that her mother and father weren't around," he said quietly, unsure of how to respectfully frame the question he was thinking of asking.

"I imagine that was something she found very difficult to talk about. The fact she mentioned it to you at all should tell you something about her regard for you, even then."

Meredith pulled out a small framed photo from inside a drawer and handed it to George. He looked at the picture of a slim, blonde, blue-eyed teenage girl.

"This is my daughter, Carys – Angharad's mother. When her father died, my Llewellyn, she suffered a nervous breakdown. In an attempt to anesthetize the pain of it, she turned to chemicals. Absolute poison, they are, George. They ruined her body and her mind. Destroyed us – our love for each other – when we only had the two of us left."

George looked up from the blue eyes in the photo into Meredith's identical but watery ones, listening intently to the clearly painful memory.

"I told her to leave and never come back until she stopped using them. Tough love, they call it. And I never heard from her again.

"When the hospital in London called and told me to come but wouldn't say why, I was certain I was on my way to claim her body for burial. But there was no sign of my daughter. Instead, there was my Angharad, all alone."

Meredith smiled through her tears, briefly struggling with the sadness for a moment, then continued. "She was so tiny – in so much pain from the drugs leaving her little body. But, oh, how she fought! Dug her claws into this life, she did, and refused to give up. Amazed the doctors by how quickly she caught up with the other children her age. Not in stature, of course," she chuckled, and George joined her, not exactly sure why.

She took the photo of Carys from him and put it away in the drawer once more.

He picked up another frame from the table next to him, this one containing a more recent version of Annie decked out in a simple black dress and heels, standing with her arm around Meredith. Her smile wasn't as full as usual in this picture; she looked slightly melancholy, or stressed with worry, perhaps. Not like the brightly smiling face he had memorized from the beach two years ago.

He had had no real idea at all about the pain Annie had grown up with. He and his brother had just blindly taken her for granted – a playmate who was just as reckless as they were, if a little bit moody at times. How could they have comprehended, living the comparatively idyllic life they had done growing up in his family?

Her flaring temper, the angry tears – they must have been just the tip of the iceberg of hurt inside her. How could someone survive such a thing – abandonment at birth – let alone adjust to become a remotely normal person? He struggled with the urge to dash out the door and gather her up in his arms, to tell her how sorry he was for everything, to protect her from every possible hurt, and never let her go.

"I'm an old woman, George," explained Meredith, startling him out of his reverie. "There's far more of this life behind me than before me, and that's as it should be. I understand you're young, and so is she. Plenty of things left for you both to learn, especially about love.

"But one thing's for certain: Angharad is more precious to me than anything on earth has a right to be. I won't suffer a fool to hurt her. Tell me now, as a man, that your intentions are honest, and I'll take you at your word. Otherwise, leave her to someone who can value the treasure she is."

George swallowed hard, summoning control over the strong emotions roiling within him. There was a new hardness to Meredith's voice now. He appreciated the fact that she was only trying to protect Annie in her own way. Hers was a fair question, and he reckoned Meredith deserved an honest answer.

"Mrs. Jones, I've known Annie for eleven years now. What started as a true friendship has grown into... well... something more. I am young, as you say, and while I can't speak for Annie's feelings, I can assure you that mine are real and sincere. And I would never dream of hurting her; that's a promise."

Meredith nodded as she considered what he had said. "I believe you," she responded quietly. She smiled to lighten the serious mood that had descended onto the room. "You're a sweet, lucky boy. I think I can see what calls her to you," she said with a wink.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, then, George. You may tell Angharad I got sleepy right after she left and went to lie down, if you like."

*

Meredith had become an expert at crying silently while pretending to sleep. It was no wonder, considering how many years she had spent perfecting the art. It had become a necessity, for Annie must never know, never see how often Meredith wept for her daughter.

It pained Meredith that Annie refused to ever talk about her mother, although she understood why: Annie blamed her mother for a good deal of the troubles in her life, and rightly so. Though the narrow-minded residents of Ottery St. Catchpole surely should shoulder a goodly portion of the blame for Annie's childhood miseries, she reckoned. They had shamefully used the scandal of Annie's bastard status as a weapon against the unarmed child.

Ah, Carys – her own dearest daughter. So much promise, all of it thrown away for nothing. Meredith never understood what exactly had gone wrong inside her daughter's mind when Llewellyn died, but something surely had. She had lost them both in one fell swoop: her husband and their only child.

It haunted her, the memory of the dark creature Carys had become. The despair that Llewellyn's death had brought upon her had sucked the light of love from her eyes. The poison she'd turned to in order to soothe the pain had destroyed every spark of humanity in her mind. The addiction that resulted had enslaved her soul. Meredith's sweet little girl had been consumed by an evil inferno which left behind a burned-out hull of a human being: a hopeless animal left with no vestige of free will.

Meredith had not been strong enough to defeat her daughter's sadness or the resulting addiction to drugs. She had failed when the stakes had been at their highest. It was the blackest blemish on her soul – her secret, everlasting heartache that drove her to weep silently in her bed at night.

But, paradoxically, a powerful good had come of such evil. Precious Annie, her shining beacon of love, was Carys' greatest glory as well as her most heinous sin. Meredith was not so naïve as to imagine Annie's conception was anything other than the result of her daughter's rape or prostitution. And Carys had clearly disregarded the gift growing within her – poisoning the tiny life in her womb in the blind pursuit of numbness.

Yet Carys had made Annie; she was a part of her very being forever. She somehow kept Annie alive, nurtured her just enough to be born and survive. And while Carys' abandonment had scarred her child for life, it had also given Annie a chance at life, at happiness, at love.

For Annie had persevered. She had survived her mother's pre-natal abuse and subsequent abandonment. She had lived through so much cruelty life had thrown at her and, like the strongest alloy, had become strengthened by the curing fire.

And now Meredith's strong, beautiful granddaughter had fallen in love with a boy. Annie had been hurt and betrayed by so many unworthy people – her mother first and foremost on that list – yet miraculously was still capable of joy, still open to love. Meredith could see why Annie had chosen this boy in particular: the sweet, idealistic innocence that exuded from him like perfume, his warm, gentle manner with her, and that dash of impish mischief that glittered in his eyes. If he played his cards right, he just might find himself matched with his perfect mate in Annie.

Meredith could hear them now outside the house, murmuring to each other. She could hear the tenderness in their voices, even if she couldn't make out their words. They sounded just like she and Llew had done, all those years ago.

Meredith had prayed for this: to see Annie settled before she died. What a blessing it would be for them to have found each other so early in life. If it was within her power to do so, she determined she would nurture this young love, shield and encourage it as best she could with the final breath of her body, if necessary.

*

It took Annie half an hour of rushing to hang out the load of laundry before she was finished and reentered the quiet house. She peeked into Gran's bedroom and saw she was sleeping with her back to the door, as usual. She started to panic as she searched the remaining rooms of the house without finding George. Had Gran driven him away with her probing questions? she worried.

"George?" she called out in a hushed voice.

"Out here," he called to her softly.

Annie found him outside, seated on the front porch swing. His hands were folded behind his head, eyes closed, slowly rocking it back and forth with his long legs stretched out across the width of the narrow porch.

"Was it horrible, the interrogation?" she asked with a sympathetic wince as she sat beside him.

He put his arm around her and pulled her close, smiling reassuringly. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Don't fret about it. Your Gran loves you very much," he said, stroking her arm. "Who around here doesn't?" he added quietly.

Annie's heart tumbled in her chest. Did he mean to say what she thought she had just heard: what she had hoped for and fantasized about for two years?

"Tell me again how to say it," he said.

"Say what?"

"Your name. The long version."

"Ang-hah-rad. Like you're swallowing the N – emphasis on the laugh in the middle."

He practiced saying it a few times. She looked up at him, her mind making a careful recording of his face, his smiling mouth in particular, as her name rang out in his voice. This would fuel her dreams for the next month, at least, she reckoned.

"I like it," he declared.

"I suppose I'll keep it, then," she teased him.

"Middle name?"

"None."

George lifted an eyebrow to express his doubt. Annie shifted, turning her body toward him so she could face him and put her arms around his neck and drape her legs across his lap. George shifted toward her as well, lacing his arms around her waist.

"Gran is very old-fashioned, in case you haven't noticed," she explained as he gently swung them. "According to her, young ladies don't need middle names. That's what a maiden name is for, after they've married. So I'll be Annie J. Something, someday."

"Angharad J. Something," he corrected her. "Someday?"

Annie shrugged. "I assume it will happen at some point. Like it does for most people. I'm not in any great hurry, though. Don't you ever think so?"

"Never really thought about it," he confessed.

"You're a boy. You're not supposed to," she giggled.

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?" he asked in a teasing, mock-accusing voice. "Any other secrets you've been keeping for a decade or more?"

"Perhaps now would be as good a time as any to tell you about my tail?" she joked.

"I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but the tail's not a secret. Neither are the horns." He lightly rapped on top of her head, chuckling.

"What about you?"

"No tail, sorry," he teased her.

"I meant a middle name," she sighed.

"I know. I should make you guess it – you never will."

"So save me the effort, already."

"Darius."

Annie's face registered mild surprise. He was right; she never would have guessed it. "And Fred?"

"Cyrus."

Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to suss out where she'd heard the names before. "Persian kings?" she asked, trying to see a connection between the historical names and her twin friends. Her fair-skinned, ginger friends had never struck her as being of Persian origin.

George looked at her as if she was being thick.

Her eyes widened. "They were wizards?" she asked excitedly. She had never before considered famous historical figures as possibly being magical people as well.

After a moment, he spoke. "How did you know they were Persian kings?" he asked her curiously.

"Because I studied world history, and I'm not retarded," she teased. Actually, she had been rather impressed with herself for recalling such an obscure fact.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered what she had said for a moment. He looked like something she said caused him concern. Had she offended him somehow? Maybe with the retarded comment?

"Are you actually related to them?" she asked, hoping to redirect him quickly.

"Not likely the originals," he laughed and pulled her even closer. "More like some obscure twin Prewitt uncles.

Thank goodness he doesn't sound angry, she thought with relief, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Magical families tend to hang on to those sorts of names," he continued, "recycling them through the generations. At least my parents gave us boys normal first names and saved the odd ones for the middle. Not everyone is so lucky."

"Like what?"

"In order, we're William Arthur..."

"Normal enough," she interrupted.

"Then Charles Septimus, Percival Ignatius, Frederick Cyrus, George Darius, and Ronald Bilius."

"Ooh, I see what you mean. Bilius... really? Poor Ron – maybe that's why he's such a whinger. Well, you were one of the lucky ones, at least. Darius isn't bad at all."

George chuckled.

After a few moments, she continued. "Thank you... for coming here and doing this. She's a sweetheart, really, no matter what impression she might have given you today," Annie laughed.

"I already told you, it was fine," he chuckled again. He leaned closer, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. "But if you insist on believing it was some sort of torture, then by all means, do try to make it up to me."

*

The short ride had been quiet. They slowly pulled into an expensive-looking subdivision where all the cars parked in the driveways were new and the color-coordinated houses were virtually identical, if you didn't count the small variations in trim. Annie's old beast of a farm truck definitely looked lost amongst the rest of the smart vehicles on the street.

"You're not nervous, are you?" Annie chided him.

"Why would I be nervous?" George asked defensively.

She stared pointedly at his hands on the wheel. He hadn't noticed his fingers had been drumming themselves, and he stopped them immediately.

"My point exactly," she said with an encouraging smile. "She's going to like you."

Actually, he couldn't care less what anyone else thought of him, or Annie, or the two of them together. He was far more anxious for her, and their track record of socializing with Muggles in this town left quite a bit of room for worry. It usually ended up with him pulling her off some kid, fists flying. Admittedly, that hadn't happened in several years, though....

But then there was the incident a few weeks ago, meeting up with the town morons in the pub. It had bothered him immensely: how they had affected her. The encounter had revealed Annie still had a sore spot on her heart from her school years, and George couldn't stand to see her hurting.

He noticed it whenever they spent an evening in Ottery, actually, which had become a rare occurrence once he'd seen how it affected her. Neither had it escaped his notice that almost every time they found themselves among the people she grew up with, Annie morphed from the fun-loving, sunny-dispositioned girl he grew up with and loved into some sort of armored and prickly being: arms crossed, back stiff, face in a near permanent scowl.

He didn't blame Annie for reacting to the Ottery denizens the way she did. They would have driven him bloody insane himself. Maybe it was presumed as something of a birthright in this tiny backwater: apparently, being raised here gave you the right to stick your judgmental nose into everyone else's private business.

He had thought about it a lot lately: What is wrong with the people in this bloody town, anyway? How could they not see Annie for who she was instead of merely the circumstances of her birth? Ever since his conversation with Meredith, when he'd learned the details about those circumstances, he found it made his blood boil: how the idiots in this town treated Annie.

And then there was her ridiculous and patently false reputation among the youth in this perverse corner of the world. Those girls in the park two years ago, then the vapid one from the pub, all insisting Annie was some sort of slut. Small minds with far too much time on their hands and hormones in their blood, he supposed. It pained him greatly she'd felt it necessary to defend herself to him, swearing they were all lies. As if he didn't already know her better than that.

Sometimes he felt the temptation to torch the whole place, just to make her feel better. One thing was for sure: as the weeks had passed this summer, George had become more and more certain of his purpose on this earth. He had to get Annie the hell out of here. And rescue her he would, if it was the last thing he ever did.

"What's not to like?" he answered her with a shrug and mock bravado.

Annie smiled at his confident response. "I agree wholeheartedly. Let's go in... I'm getting hungry."

They strolled hand in hand to the door, Annie slightly in the lead. George was feeling an increasingly familiar sensation beginning to spread through his body: the strong desire to protect Annie from whatever was surrounding her, threatening to hurt her. Situations like this brought out a protective side of him he had previously thought was reserved for his flesh and blood family.

Tonight, though, she seemed different. Better. More relaxed. She had a smile of anticipation, looking forward to social interaction, for once. She was finally going to introduce him to her best Muggle friend in Ottery: the legendary Jane. Her tutor, mentor, and mate through the years while he and Fred were stuck at school far away.

Jane was home for several days from her studies in Cardiff. According to Annie, she had decided to pursue a career in architecture, ensuring many more years of schooling were ahead for her. Both he and Annie had found that concept personally distasteful, yet Annie assured him that Jane was not a 'Percy.'

The door swung open just as Annie reached up to knock on it. Standing before them was a tall, slim Asian girl with a broad, friendly smile. Dressed casually in jeans and a cotton shirt, she had finely chiseled facial features and graceful, willowy proportions.

He could see now why Annie had told him she looked like a fashion model. Not his type at all, but certainly beautiful in an exotic way. Fred, on the other hand, would have been all over her like a niffler on gold; George was quite confident about that.

"Annie! It's so good to see you!" Jane cried with genuine pleasure in her voice. She pulled Annie inside the door and into a warm embrace which Annie returned with enthusiasm.

The alert level in George's body immediately dialed itself down. Annie would be safe here; that much was clear. Or at the very least, she would have more than one defender. When the girls released each other, Annie introduced him to Jane with a glowing smile on her face that pleased him immensely.

"Go put your coats on the bed, will you, then meet us in the kitchen," Jane directed her.

As Annie headed down the hallway, Jane turned toward him. "It's nice to finally meet you, George," she said with a smile, flipping her long, straight, black hair back into place behind her shoulder, offering her other hand to him for a friendly handshake.

Or so he'd thought. Jane was as tall as he was in flat shoes, he suddenly realized to his surprise, and had a strong grip to boot. As she squeezed his hand firmly, she leaned slightly toward him and spoke in a low voice. "Annie thinks the world of you, you know. Her happiness means a lot to me. And if you hurt her, I will hunt you down and emasculate you."

George was momentarily taken aback. Jane's smile was still genuine, but the glint in her eyes was hard and serious. He understood her threat was utterly real.

He smiled broadly. Finally, he had found someone else in this godforsaken village who had a real appreciation for Annie. "I can't tell you how nice it is to hear you say that," he responded earnestly and, he expected, somewhat paradoxically.

But Jane had grasped his meaning and nodded with a little laugh. "I'm glad we understand each other. Welcome, come on in," she said with warmth as she began to lead him through the house.

Eight young people now milled about near a large table filled with snacks. Jane introduced Annie and himself to everyone; apparently, Annie didn't know anyone else here, either. George predicted that boded well for the evening. If the other guests weren't from around here, the odds were improving that Annie would feel more comfortable among them and enjoy the evening.

After a short while spent mingling, they arranged themselves around a large felt-covered table. Each seat had a stack of poker chips arranged neatly in front of it. Jane began to deal the cards as soon as everyone bought in.

"The game is five card stud, ladies and gentlemen. Ante up, if you please."

"Keep your hands where I can see them, you," Annie whispered the warning in his ear.

Such a suspicious little thing, he thought as he laughed quietly to himself. He confessed it was probably for good reason.

As the evening wore on, George spent some time observing the dynamics of the group; that is, when he wasn't absorbed with watching Annie have a ball, cleaning everyone else out. He quickly realized Jane had a real knack for social situations. At first, he'd assumed that they were four couples, but soon discovered that he and Annie were the only pair currently dating. Jane had used this opportunity to set up several of her friends and fancied herself a matchmaker, apparently.

And the bloke seated next to Jane herself.... Well, she wasn't putting the moves on him, and it wouldn't have done any good if she had, George surmised almost immediately. He was clearly gay. So she wasn't in it for herself, he was led to conclude. Interesting, he thought, and well done, Jane.

The evening ended when Annie had won every chip on the table. She was up two hundred pounds for the night. He thought back to all the grief she had given him for taking bets at the Triwizard Tournament and shook his head. Hypocritical little hustler, she is.

On the drive home that night, he pondered again at the contrast between the Annie of tonight – charming, comfortable and confident amongst complete strangers and close friends – and the creature she became around her former schoolmates, even now. What on earth had they done to her?

After all, hadn't he and Fred teased her every single day they had ever spent together? She had almost universally responded to them by being playful, adventurous, and easy-going, just as she had been tonight. Sure, there had been a few fits of temper when they were growing up, but they'd always blown themselves out in a few minutes, as quickly as they developed. And she had never held any grudges against them.

Why is it so different with the people she grew up with? He ground his teeth as he imagined what they must have been like to elicit such a sea change of temperament. You poke any animal with a sharp stick enough times, and it's bound to bare its teeth, isn't it? Once again, he found himself tempted to avenge her hurts, somehow, someday.

"You're too quiet tonight. I'm getting more nervous by the mile," she said teasingly, interrupting his train of thought.

"Sorry. I'll make more noise from now on," he answered, then belched for effect.

"Why I spend so much time with a troll is beyond me," she giggled.

"I wonder the same thing myself, some days," he said with a smile. "You deserve far better, you know. Despite the fact you're a hag."

The drive home was short, and they sat in the parked truck for a little while after they arrived at Annie's house. He pulled her closer to him, across the empty expanse of the bench seat, and after kissing her for a few minutes, rested his head on her shoulder. Her curly hair brushed softly against his forehead, and he breathed in the sweet, clean, slightly spicy scent of the skin of her neck.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and continued in a light tone. "So, you were counting tonight, weren't you?"

"Counting what?" she asked innocently.

He didn't buy it for a second. "The cards," he answered slowly, as if it was patently obvious. And it had been. Annie had won all but a dozen hands tonight.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Her voice sounded convincing, but she couldn't hide her tiny, telling smile from him.

George was impressed. He and Fred had tried to teach themselves the same skill but never quite got the full hang of it. It took massive amounts of concentration; that was for sure. Here was one more delightful little discovery about this girl: his amazing Annie.

"Nobody's that lucky, Annie. You should've covered your tracks better and lost a few more hands to make it less obvious," he chuckled.

Annie gazed directly into his eyes with a soft smile. Her hands were laced behind his neck, and her incredible violet eyes stared intently into his own. George felt a stab of emotion to his heart, and the familiar gush of desire poured out from the pit of his stomach.

"I am. I'm the luckiest girl in the world," she insisted, then kissed him.