The Order

Chapter 23: The Order

Summer 1996

Annie gazed dreamily out of one of the windows of the reception room. Just a few more weeks were left to wait until she would be back at the beach once more with George and Fred. She had very high hopes that this trip would be even better than her memories of the last time, which already ranked in her personal all-time top ten.

She was startled out of her fantasy by the door opening unexpectedly. The last patient scheduled for the day was currently seated in the examination chair; she could hear the high-pitched whine of a dental instrument. Her surprise grew as the oddest-looking man she had ever seen walked through the door and directly up to her desk.

He was tall and elderly with a smiling but careworn face. Although, truth be told, she could barely see his face peeking out from behind the vast amounts of hair and beard that surrounded it. He was dressed plainly, yet even his clothes were a bit off, as if he was trying very hard to look doddery and non-threatening. One thing she knew for sure: he was a stranger to Ottery.

"Good afternoon," she greeted him in a professional manner. "Would you like to make an appointment with Dr. Dan?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Jones. No, thank you.... As a matter of fact, I am here to speak briefly with you, if I may."

Immediately, Annie was wary. How did this stranger know her name? Oh, right, she thought, he probably read the placard on my desk. "Certainly, sir. How can I help you?"

The odd old man removed a small piece of paper from his breast pocket. "Allow me to present my card, Miss Jones," he said as he handed it to her.

A salesman, perhaps? She looked down and read the card in her hand.

Professor Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore

Hogwarts School

She recognized the name instantly, of course, yet the knowledge did nothing but confuse her further. It made no sense for this man to be here, wishing to speak with her. Were Fred and George in trouble – perhaps for quitting school? Was this man really even who he said he was? There were too many unknowns, so she decided to play dumb.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Annie met the old man's gaze with a questioning face.

"Perhaps things would become clearer if you read the reverse?" he offered. As she turned the card over, he continued, "I'd like to speak with you about a young man of our mutual acquaintance: George Weasley."

She read the back side of the card.

It's okay to talk – George

It did indeed look like George's handwriting, but you didn't need to be a wizard to fake a signature. Furthermore, George had never given her a single word of warning, nothing that would have prepared her for this visit. Unconvinced, she kept up with the possum routine.

Pursing her lips and shaking her head, she spoke once more. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore. It appears there's been a misunderstanding. I don't know anyone named George Weasley."

"Hmm. I was under the impression you were correspondents, at the very least." He gave her a long stare.

Hadn't George told her their letters to each other had been tampered with at Hogwarts? Far from reassuring her, if that indeed was the old codger's intent, the last comment further fueled her anxiety.

Annie shook her head again. "Would you like to use the phone index? Perhaps you'll find the person you're looking for there?" she offered, leaning down to open the desk drawer in which it rested. She hoped she sounded convincingly casual.

"No, thank you. I've taken up enough of your time already. I believe I'll just nip 'round the corner for a bit of tea and ponder what avenue to pursue next. Goodbye, Miss Jones. Lovely to meet you," the fellow said in a pleasant, unruffled tone.

"Again, sorry I couldn't be of more help, sir."

"Not at all, Miss Jones. You have been most helpful," he assured her. And with that, the old man smiled and left.

Annie crept up to the window and peeked through the blinds to confirm he was heading down the street. Then she dialed her cell phone. To her surprise, George picked up after only the second ring. She had fully expected to leave a message for him to call her as soon as possible.

"Where are you?" she demanded in confusion.

"I had a feeling you'd be calling," he replied, avoiding her question.

"So, you know..."

"About Dumbledore, yeah. Didn't you read the card?"

"Forgery isn't so hard. I've done it myself numerous times for the sake of convenience. I just wanted to make sure...."

"Your paranoia is endearing – as is your penchant for criminal behavior. All part of the lovely little package of neuroses, I suppose."

"Are you in trouble?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"For once, no." He chuckled. "I'll come over tonight and find out how it goes. About eleven?"

"Okay, see you," she said, ending the call.

Eleven.... After curfew. Once again, she'd be sneaking out tonight.

She smiled wryly as she folded the phone closed. George had been so thrilled when she had given him his own phone last month and delighted in using it to call her several times daily. Usually, though, he kept it turned off when he was in the magical atmosphere of Diagon Alley so as not to fry its circuits. Since he had actually picked up the phone when it rang, he must be somewhere else.

It was nearly time for the office to close. She hurried the last patient out the door and said goodbye to Dr. Dan. Then she headed straight for the little café around the corner. Maybe he would still be there?

Dumbledore was indeed seated in the nearly empty café. He smiled at her as she rounded the corner, as if he was expecting her to meet him. He rose politely as she walked inside. "Miss Jones! How delightful! Won't you join me?"

Mrs. Gordon, the owner, looked at Annie curiously.

The curse of a small town, Annie thought. Nothing could remain private or unremarked-upon for long.

"I'm afraid I can't stay, Mr. Dumbledore. But I thought about your question, and I think I know someone who can help you find what you're looking for." She wrote her address on a slip of paper and a time later that day: five p.m. As she handed it to him, she prayed he'd be discreet in front of one of the town's biggest gossips.

"Thank you. That is very kind. I'm so lucky to have met you just now at Dr. Dan's." He gave her the slightest of understanding winks.

"Good luck, then, sir," she added, then left the café. She could feel the Gordon woman's eyes on her back, almost feel the silly woman's finger itching to dial a phone.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon. She decided she had plenty of time to run her errand and get home to prepare for an interrogation. She stopped at the market and was home within an hour.

She gathered her groceries from beside her on the truck seat and carried them inside. It wasn't until she had kicked off her shoes and set the rustling bags down on the counter that she heard Gran's voice coming from the front room. It almost sounded as if she was having a conversation with someone.

"Gran?" she called out, walking down the hall toward the front room.

"There you are, Angharad," she said as Annie paused at the end of the hallway, dumbfounded by the scene. "Your friend, Mr. Dumbledore, has been waiting for you."

She looked at him with consternation. "You're early, sir."

"A hazard of being punctual, my dear Miss Jones," he replied. "In the meantime, I've had a delightful chat with your grandmother about her lovely delphiniums. Please, do not let me interrupt your marketing."

Annie hustled back to the kitchen, cramming the food into the fridge or pantry. She didn't feel right leaving Gran alone with him any longer than absolutely necessary, so she rushed about. She returned to the front room with a tray of tea, knowing Gran would have sent her back for it anyway. After teacups were filled, distributed, and everyone resettled, Dumbledore began to speak.

"As you know, Miss Jones, I wish to speak with you about our friend, George Weasley. Young George has requested I consider him for a position within my organization."

Annie remained silent. She had a strong suspicion she knew a little about the organization he was referring to, for George and Fred both had been talking lately about joining some secret wizard's group which they refused to name. But more importantly, was she supposed to know?

Meredith felt no such reticence and carried on with their friendly conversation from before. "Isn't that nice, dear? May I ask, Mr. Dumbledore, what sort of organization you represent? Would I be familiar?"

Dumbledore looked directly at Annie. "An excellent question," he remarked, then turned back to her Gran. "My organization prefers to remain anonymous to the general public; therefore, you are unlikely to recognize the name. But rest assured, we strive to promote the very highest ideals of peace and justice."

"Lofty ideals, indeed!" Gran exclaimed. "How lovely to learn that George wishes to help you further them."

"Indeed, indeed, I am pleased as well. May I ask you now, if you would be so kind, to share with me your impressions regarding young George? In particular, have you ever noticed anything... out of the ordinary about him?"

"Well, Mr. Dumbledore, I have only known George for a few weeks myself. My Angharad, on the other hand, has known him a bit longer, I think. How long would you say, dear?"

"A while, yes. A few years...." Best not to be completely honest about that one just yet, she reckoned. Annie smiled, amused that Gran was doing all the talking during what was supposed to be her interrogation.

Meredith returned her smile, then turned back to Dumbledore. "In the brief amount of time I have spent with George, I have found him to be polite and respectful with a genuinely friendly manner."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted in curious surprise at Meredith's choice of words. Meanwhile Annie struggled to keep a straight face.

Her Gran continued, "So, yes, I must confess I find him quite out of the ordinary, compared to most young people his age. Refreshingly so. But of course, Angharad knows him far better than I. Would you agree with me, dear?"

Annie smiled at her Gran. "I see what you mean, Gran. But I would have to say to Mr. Dumbledore, that while George has many fine qualities of character that set him apart, he has always represented himself as a completely normal fellow and nothing more special." Annie looked pointedly at the old man to see if he understood her meaning: George was upholding the secrecy laws, at least with everyone other than herself.

Meredith was a bit confused by what in her opinion was a less than stellar recommendation, but said nothing. She filled the lull in the conversation by asking if Dumbledore had any other specific questions for them.

"No, no, my dear ladies. You have been most helpful, and I find your insight quite illuminating. I shall be on my way very soon. But before I take my leave, may I have a moment with you, Miss Jones, in private. That is, if you don't mind, Mrs. Jones?"

"Of course. I'll just take these things back to the kitchen," Meredith said, gathering up the tea service. "It was very nice to have met you, Mr. Dumbledore. I hope you'll find George to be a successful addition to your organization."

"Thank you again, Mrs. Jones. Miss Jones, shall we?"

"Please call me Annie, Mr. Dumbledore," she said as they stood alone together just inside the front door.

"Thank you, Annie, I will. May I say that I am rather impressed by your discretion? It will serve you and those you care about very well in the future. In fact, I quite rely upon it. Do you understand my point?" he asked, looking intently at her over the rims of his spectacles.

"I think so, sir, yes." She had become expert at keeping secrets over her lifetime, after all.

Dumbledore smiled. "I perhaps flatter myself that I feel I know the members of the Weasley family quite well. Their loyalty and dedication to what is right should be a shining example for us all. They shoulder many risks... and may suffer sacrifices... for remaining true to their ideals.

"George has been a student of mine for many years, as I suspect you well know. My estimation of him has grown with time and continues to do so. Not only has he shown prodigious talent that is accompanied by the high ethical standards of the Weasley family, he has also shown himself to be an excellent judge of character." He then smiled warmly at Annie.

"George is an easy person to love," she responded. She was startled by her own declaration; she had meant to say "like" rather than "love," but it was true all the same.

"I'm confident he feels the same about you, my dear, and I am happy for you both. Nothing is more vital to our cause than love, I promise you. And now, I must be off. I have another pressing engagement, you see." Dumbledore patted her shoulder, then proceeded to walk quickly down the road away from town toward the Burrow.

*

Annie awoke as the sun broke over the horizon and shone into the back of her tent. Looking out the open flaps of her tent, she could see it promised to be a glorious day – gorgeous blue sky, puffy scattered clouds, a light sea breeze. She stretched and hazarded a glance at the tent next door.

She could see just a little way inside; the fronts of their two tents had been pitched perpendicular to each other. Two identical red-haired heads lay perfectly still on pillows near the entrance, four muscular arms splayed in all directions.

She propped her head up and watched them sleep for a few minutes. Her heart swelled with contentment to be back on the beach with her best friends, just like it had been so long ago, only even better now.

She sat up and quietly closed her front tent flaps for privacy. She dressed slowly as she knelt in the small space, tying the knots on her bikini tightly and carefully. She slipped on her usual long board shorts – the better to keep the tattoo, as well as the runner's thighs she regarded as her worst feature, hidden. Though the day promised to be warm, it was still a bit chilly in the breeze, so she donned a long-sleeved shirt as well.

When she finished, she rolled up the tent flaps, tying them securely open. She glanced once more toward the boys' tent and was startled to see George awake with his head propped up, gazing at her with a strange smile.

"What?" she whispered testily, preparing herself for some crack about the state of her hair.

"Those were some interesting shadows," he whispered back.

So much for privacy. At least Fred is still asleep, she thought gratefully. She felt a raging blush flare on her neck and face. "Pervert," she muttered with an embarrassed smile. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Trust me, it was worse in my dreams," he teased her.

He crawled slowly out of his tent, stood, and stretched his long, lean body. A pair of swim shorts clung to his waist; he wore nothing else. Annie felt like a bit of a pervert herself as she stared at George bending and flexing the muscles of his back and shoulders. She tore her eyes away just as he caught her watching, turning away with another bashful smile. She busied herself digging through the food box for some breakfast.

They sat side by side at the picnic table. George consumed four scones in the time it took her to eat just one. But she was in no hurry today and planned to savor every minute of their short holiday. It had been far too long since the last time.

As she slowly chewed, she reviewed the memory of last night at the pub. It had been atypical in that Fred hadn't spent all his time chatting up girls at the bar. For once, he had given his attention to her and George as they reminisced about all the prior holidays they had taken together. Other than the fact that George had been holding her hand under the table, it had felt just like old times. It had been a wonderful start for the weekend.

It had been so long now since she had enjoyed the sun and sand. The mere thought of it last summer would have driven her into a depression. But today, with George by her side and Fred set to join them by late morning, nothing promised to feel more wonderful.

The day was warming quickly, so they snagged a spot on the beach with an umbrella. George set to laying out the blankets for her underneath it.

"Put mine in the sun for now," she requested as she pulled off her shirt. She dug through the bag for sunscreen, tossing it onto a corner for later.

The warmth of the morning sun felt tantalizingly luxurious on her skin. What the hell, she thought, as long as I'm careful not to turn my back to him, he'll never notice. She quietly slipped her shorts off and sat carefully on the blanket, making sure her back faced away from him and the umbrella, preparing to lie down on her back.

George coughed loudly on purpose.

She turned to face him, thinking: What now? Had he caught a glimpse of the tattoo already? Her stomach quailed at the prospect.

"Yes?" she asked, slightly nervous.

"Is that really appropriate?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, beginning to panic a little.

"Your... ah... ensemble, for lack of a better word."

"What's wrong with it?"

Annie quickly checked to make sure nothing was inadvertently exposed. She found everything in its proper place, to her immense relief. He'd just been teasing her, she reckoned. She lay back on the towel, propping her upper body up on her elbows and looked out at the ocean. Her skin delighted in the warm sun shining on it.

"Would you mind putting on some clothing? You're indecent as you are," he scolded her.

Now even more confident that he had to be teasing her, she didn't bother to look back at him. She decided to play along instead. "Excuse me? Who do you think you are? I don't know what sort of repressed patriarchal society you grew up in, but that sort of macho attitude doesn't fly with a liberated girl like me," she shot back.

He tossed her shirt and shorts at her in response, and they landed on her belly.

"Thanks, dork," she said sarcastically. She folded them both together, then tucked them under her head for a pillow. She lay back, closed her eyes and arranged her arms and legs flat to most effectively soak up the sun.

"You were supposed to wear those," he said sternly a few moments later.

His voice sounded like it was coming directly above her, but the sun's bright glare made it impossible to open her eyes and look. Suddenly, she found herself being lifted up by her arms and led across the sand to the water.

"Maybe if you're cold and wet, you'll want to cover yourself up," he chided, wearing the barest of smiles.

She laughed at his persistence and followed him into the water, careful to face him at all times. "You know, most normal boys enjoy looking at girls in swim suits at the beach," she teased.

"Which is precisely why I'm begging you to get dressed," he said, dragging her through the waves.

"That repulsive, am I? Embarrassed to be seen with me?" she laughed.

"Fishing for compliments, are we? Fine."

He pulled her down into the cold water up to her neck. She gasped at the shock of it.

"You look utterly... indecently... cruelly...." He paused, searching for a word to use here because the one he had in mind sounded ridiculous, even if it was perfectly accurate. He gave up after a couple of seconds and said it anyway. "Ravishing, at the moment."

"Really?" she asked. Annie looked at George with a surprised yet pleased smile. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she squinted to see him clearly. She still wasn't convinced he was remotely serious.

"Like you don't know it," he said with a roll of his eyes. They were floating in shallow water, letting the gentle waves push them along.

"I am glad to hear you think so," she said as she swam closer to him.

They had drifted to a point where George was chest-deep as he rested his knees on the sandy sea bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and the rest of her body followed, slowly moving through the water until it came to rest against him. He held her there with his hands pressing unknowingly on the tattoo on the small of her back as she kissed him.

Even with the warmth of his body and their kiss, she soon began to shiver in the chilly water. "Okay, I give in. I'm freezing. I'll put the shorts back on," she promised as she stood up and slowly walked backwards, holding his hands, pulling him along with her.

"Let's not be too hasty. It's possible I was overreacting before," he argued.

Later that day, Fred and Annie sat at an outdoor table, looking out across the street over the sand to the ocean. The sun had just dipped below the horizon. Annie's curly hair tossed in the light breeze, and her lightweight blouse fluttered as well.

"You look almost girlish tonight. Not your typical tomboy uniform of denim and t-shirt. What gives? Run out of clean laundry?" Fred teased her.

Annie shrugged with a smile. "Perhaps I'm branching out? Expanding my horizons?" She leaned back in the chair and crossed both her arms and legs.

Fred chuckled. "Are those heels on your shoes?" he asked as he tapped them gently with his foot.

"I think they make my legs look nice," she said defensively.

"They do," he agreed. "It's even more surprising to see those legs peeking out from under a skirt. You know, my dear, I'm beginning to think you might be female after all."

"I will assume you mean that as a compliment," she laughed.

"You're looking well. The past two years have been good to you," he offered.

Annie grimaced. "That's ironic. I would have expected to look a bit worse for wear. I feel quite battered and bruised by them, actually."

"Shit, Annie... I'm such a prat! I forgot about your Gran. How is she?"

Annie paused, considering what to say. "Honestly, she's doing well to just hold her own. The infection last fall really took a toll. I'm starting to realize she might never be her old self again. But she's keen and still putters around the house on her own. She was looking forward to having a friend stay with her while I'm gone – I think she's sick of me hovering," she giggled.

Fred wanted to change the subject; not that he didn't care, but rather preferred to lighten the mood. "So, you and George.... How did this calamity happen?"

She shrugged her shoulders again. Her face lit up in a blissful smile she was unable to suppress. George had just returned with an armful of bottles and a basket of chips, and he sat down next to Annie, across from himself. Fred could tell that George had just slid his hand into Annie's under the table and shook his head slowly in mock disapproval of it all.

"Granted, it was bound to happen at some point: you falling for one of us. You couldn't be expected to withstand the sheer tonnage of charm and good looks surrounding you," he teased, indicating his brother and himself with a wave of his finger. "No woman can resist the onslaught forever. But why George? Out of the two of us, I mean?" he prodded playfully.

"Hmm. I guess you could say you're a bit too... Fred-y... for my taste. Overpoweringly so. Whereas, George is more subtly... George-ish. Not quite as flamboyantly git-like."

"I see. I'm too masculine, too suave. You're intimidated by my superior gorgeousness, as well."

"Exactly," she agreed sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, well. You're short. Of course, it goes without saying you're none too bright, either," he said, waving his hand dismissively toward George in explanation.

She kicked him – though not very hard – with her foot under the table, smirking.

"And that temper of yours is obnoxious. Can't you control her, George?" Fred complained.

"I wouldn't dream of preventing her from injuring you, Fred. Get 'im, Annie!" he encouraged her. "Ow!" he exclaimed a moment later as she punched him in the arm.

"You two deserve each other. I'm going to go find more pleasant companions – perhaps some sharks might suit," she threatened, pushing her chair back.

"See you, then," said Fred, unimpressed by her little snit. He knew her well enough to know when she was well and truly pissed, and this wasn't one of those occasions.

But to Fred's chagrin, George grabbed her hand. "Stay! We'll be nice, I promise," he pleaded, smiling charmingly.

Annie paused, looking skeptical.

"George, you idiot! She was bluffing, and you ruined your advantage! You're pathetic," Fred chastised him.

"You may come with me, as long as you behave," she said to George, tugging him up off the seat. "You can sit here and rot, for all I care," she scolded Fred.

Annie led George over to an empty pool table. She had just finished distributing all the balls on the table when Fred rejoined them.

"Flip you for it," she offered, digging through her pocket for a coin.

"Heads," called Fred.

"How about ladies first, git?" George scolded his brother.

"Aren't you sweet," teased Annie, patting a smugly smirking George gently on the cheek.

Fred pretended to retch.

Annie leaned onto the table and broke the setup. Two red balls ducked noisily into pockets, and the cue ball rolled lazily back toward the middle of the table.

"Blue," she called out and easily knocked it in.

She continued on quite a tear for several minutes before the boys got bored and started interfering. At first, it was subtle; she couldn't be entirely sure it wasn't her own mistake. They covered their tracks by taking turns affecting each other as well: equal opportunity cheating.

But before much longer, it started getting silly. Balls began stopping dead in their tracks on the table and changing direction arbitrarily. It was a good thing the pub's televisions were showing a popular football match and the rest of the pub patrons were completely absorbed by the action on the screens. Complete defiance of the laws of physics generally would have caused any casual onlookers some level of consternation, at least.

Finally, it was Annie's turn again. As she walked around the table, she looked up to see twin smirks standing about four feet apart, opposite hands resting on cues, the other hands tucked into their pockets. They looked like impish book ends, watching her.

"Is there any further point to this?" she asked.

The smirks broadened into full grins in response.

"I thought as much."

Might as well have some fun with this, she thought. She strolled to a spot at George's end of the table, giving him a profile view. She bent over the table, balancing on her toes. Surreptitiously, she glanced at George. Confident she had his attention, she carefully aimed the cue, slowly pumped it a few times, then forcefully blasted a shot.

Every ball on the table pocketed itself instantly, regardless of its proximity to the path of the cue ball.

"That was one for the record books, Annie," Fred teased, laughing as he put away the cue he had been holding.

George remained in place, gazing appreciatively at Annie still draped over the table, smiling up at him. "Well played," he agreed.

It wasn't all that late, but they decided to head back to the camp anyway. George lit a small fire and they sat around it, just like every other time they had camped there. Only this time, Annie was nestled against him, and his arm was around her. She and Fred were laughing and teasing each other about something – he hadn't been paying close attention.

As he watched the warm light of the flickering fire illuminate her smiling face, he chastised himself once again for not recognizing his feelings for what they were two years ago. Not that it would've helped the intervening time pass any faster. In fact, the opposite was more likely to be true.

Doesn't matter now, he supposed. They were together, at last. She was his to hold, to talk with, to kiss almost whenever he wanted. And who knew... maybe someday she would be Anharad. J....

Something smacked against the back of his head, disrupting his thoughts. At the same time, there was a loud screech. A moment later, a tiny owl was hopping and flapping on the ground in front of him with a small message on its leg.

"What the hell is Pig doing here?" cried Fred.

George had finally caught the frantic thing and was in the process of removing the message. Pigwigeon flew off again as he unrolled the scrap of parchment.

Fawcett's place attacked & burning. Need help. Come at once – Dad.

George handed the note to Fred, who was now kneeling next to him. "Annie, we've got to go. Something urgent's come up.... We'll be back as soon as we can. You'll be all right here on your own for a bit, won't you?"

Annie nodded, her brow furrowed with concern. "Of course. Be careful!" she called out after them as the twin brothers stood, then disappeared into the darkness.

Annie didn't see the boys again until nearly dawn. She was lightly dozing in her tent when she heard the familiar hushed popping sound they made when arriving by Apparition. In the dim light, she could see they were both grimy and sweaty.

"What happened?" she asked softly, sitting up.

Fred yanked off his shirt, crawled into their tent and flopped himself noisily onto his bedroll without speaking. George, on the other hand, crept into Annie's tent and lay down on his back next to her on the floor.

"There was a fire... at our neighbor's house," he answered quietly.

A wizard neighbor? A magical fire? Confused, Annie scooted closer to him, hesitantly resting her hand on his chest. "Is everyone all right?"

George's brow furrowed. "The Fawcetts escaped any harm, and the rest of us were able to avoid anything worse than a few minor burns. The fire was so big it attracted the Muggle fire brigade, though. One of them was injured, I think, but I'm not sure. It was a pretty chaotic scene." He closed his eyes.

"Here, take this," she said, offering him her pillow.

"It'll get all sooty and smelly," he argued weakly.

"It'll wash, don't worry," she said, lifting his head with one hand and pushing the pillow underneath him with the other.

"Thanks," he whispered, sounding nearly asleep.

She started to gingerly get up, intending to leave him in peace, but his arm tightened around her, holding her close. She lightly rested her head against his shoulder instead and soon drifted off to sleep as well.

When they finally woke up later that day, it was nearly noon. As they sat at the picnic table eating breakfast, Fred broke the silence.

"We should probably get back home," he suggested.

To Annie's disappointment, George nodded in agreement. "Dad'll probably offer our help to clean up, maybe even rebuild Fawcett's place," he said.

"So much for a holiday..." Fred sighed.

"You should stay, Annie. You deserve a vacation," George suggested.

"What's the point of staying here without you lot?" she asked with a shrug. "Finish these muffins, and I'll start loading the truck."

Two days later, Annie was seated at the reception desk at work when she was startled to see Stephen Drake walk through the door. Even more surprising was the expression on his face. He looked stunned, utterly lost – almost zombie-like.

"Stephen, what's wrong?" she asked. Regardless of all the baggage their friendship had collected over the years, she couldn't help but feel pity for any fellow human being who looked as miserable as he did at the moment.

"Your Gran said you were here. Do you have a while to talk?" he asked her, cryptically.

She glanced at the day's schedule. "I can probably take an early lunch. You spoke to Gran today?"

He nodded. "She told me to tell you that she was meeting... I forget the name... Fibberly, was it?"

"Mrs. Finnerty, our neighbor," she replied.

"That's it. Meeting her for lunch today. She forgot to tell you this morning."

Annie knew there wasn't a scrap of truth about that plan. She assumed Gran had taken note of the haunted look in Stephen's eyes, just as she was doing now, and cleared the way for Annie to be of some help to her one-time friend.

"All right. How about I meet you at old lady Gordon's around the corner in about ten minutes?" she offered.

He nodded mutely but otherwise stood still.

She could hear Dr. Dan wrapping up with his current patient, saying his goodbyes, uselessly urging him to floss. She wanted Stephen out of the foyer before they left the exam room, so she stood and led him out the door.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," she reminded him.

It was almost fifteen minutes later when she rushed into the tiny tea shop. Stephen was there, staring out into space. He had ordered sandwiches and tea which now sat before him on the table, untouched.

She took the seat facing him. "Stephen, what's wrong?" she asked once again.

"Geoff," he said flatly, working to bring her face into focus. "Geoff is dead."

Annie gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth. Geoff – Stephen's faithful sidekick for all these years – was dead? How could that be? They were only eighteen! Eighteen was too young to die!

"What happened?" she whispered.

"There was a fire... a few days ago now, I suppose. What day is it?" he asked her, suddenly distracted by the thought.

"Tuesday," she answered flatly. Her stomach was resting on the floor, fearing the odds against such a coincidence as two separate fires on the same day.

"Tuesday? Really? Feels like longer...."

"Tell me about the fire, Stephen," she said.

Stephen shook his head slowly, but continued his story. "Worst mess I've ever seen. I never even knew there was a house back there.... Maybe it was abandoned or something. Went up like fucking tinder, it did."

"A complete loss?" she asked, afraid she already knew the answer. George's neighbors' place had burned to the ground.

"I don't see how it couldn't be. We couldn't get close enough with the trucks to fight it. We were just trying to keep it from spreading into the woods.... There were a bunch of people already there shouting at each other. Didn't sound like they were speakin' English, though. Neighbors, I suppose. Or maybe gypsies. Damn fools wouldn't go away no matter how much we yelled at them to leave it to the professionals."

Annie bit her lip. She had a feeling she knew exactly who the fools were he was referring to.

"Geoff was standing there, screaming at one bloke to get out of the house. At least, that's what I thought I saw... from where I was. The guy was standing in the doorway... actually in the fire; that's what it looked like. I figured he was toast... a lost cause, for sure... and I yelled at Geoff to give it up, just back away.

"And then, the bastard turned to Geoff. Pointed at him. And I saw this... flash.... It was green, I fuckin' swear. Hurt my eyes, it was so bright. Even against the fire.

"The next thing I knew, Geoff was on the ground, and the burning man was gone. Went up in smoke, I suppose. I ran to Geoff, of course. But he was already gone when I got to him. He was dead. Lying there with his eyes open, mouth open, like he died of surprise.

Annie patted his hand that was resting on the table. "I'm so sorry, Stephen."

"But I still can't figure it out.... What happened to Geoff? Why did he just collapse like that?" Stephen's eyes searched hers, as if he thought he might find the answers there.

"His poor parents. They must be devastated," she said, tears welling up in her eyes at the thought.

"There's going to be an autopsy. They think he must've had a heart attack or something. But that's bullshit. What eighteen-year-old has a heart attack?" Stephen kept talking like he hadn't heard her. Like he was talking out loud to himself rather than having a conversation.

"What the hell happened? It wasn't the fire; I just know it. Something killed him. Someone... maybe the burning man had a gun?" Stephen continued to muse aloud.

Annie had an inkling she understood the situation a bit more clearly than Stephen did. George had told her a few things lately, things that hinted the bad wizards were up to something. And to think that George and Fred had been there, as well as their family, amidst all the danger! Tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

"They'll find a bullet wound, if that's the case," Annie argued weakly, knowing full well the coroner would find no logical reason for Geoff's death. He would probably make something up just to save himself the embarrassment of having an inexplicably dead teenager on his hands.

"The funeral is Thursday. I thought you'd want to know," he said.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll make some arrangement with Dr. Dan... I'll be there, if I can," she assured him.

Stephen nodded. Absentmindedly, he took a bite of the sandwich in front of him.

That Thursday afternoon, nearly the entire town turned out to bury the young hero firefighter cut down in his prime. Annie had come alone and found herself standing with Stephen and his mother and brother – her Gran was not up to attending herself. She even let Stephen hold her hand – strictly for moral support – during the service.

Afterward, he invited her to come to the wake at the firehouse. She didn't want to go, but the haunted look still on Stephen's face made her feel too guilty to say no.

She quickly came to regret agreeing to come to the wake. Stephen wasn't the only one in the brigade that was intent on getting fall-down drunk, but he was the one who she was stuck next to, seeing as he wouldn't let go of her hand.

"Stephen, I need to go now," she argued after about an hour. "I need to check on Gran."

Stephen nodded, his eyes half dead with whiskey already. "I'll drive you home," he offered.

"Not likely," she muttered under her breath. "I can get there just fine on my own. You stay here with your mates," she urged, standing up.

He still hadn't let go of her hand. "I'll walk you to your truck, at least," he said, slurring the words slightly.

She didn't want to embarrass him in front of his coworkers by jerking her hand away or otherwise making a scene. "Fine," she agreed. If it came down to making a scene, at least outside might be slightly more private and therefore less embarrassing, she reckoned.

They stood together at her truck. Annie turned to Stephen, who was looking more and more depressed. Out of pity, she moved to loosely embrace him. "I'm so sorry, Stephen. I know Geoff was a good mate to you," she whispered, patting him on the back.

She felt Stephen nod, then rest his head on her shoulder. He was hugging her back, a bit too tightly for comfort, but Annie didn't think much of it. Poor chap is really hurting, she figured.

And then she felt his lips against her neck.

This fucking git is trying to kiss me at his best friend's wake!? She couldn't believe it. She immediately pulled back from him, tried to push herself away, but his weight had pinned her against the truck.

"Get off me!" she hissed, shoving his shoulders away as forcefully as she could.

He responded by kissing her neck harder, like he was trying to leave a mark.

"I will kick you in the balls if you don't get off me now!" she shouted while gripping his face with her hand and pushing him away.

That got his attention. For as drunk as he was, he nimbly jumped back, using his hands to protect his groin.

"You are the biggest prick I have ever met, Stephen Drake! Get out of my sight!" she said angrily, yanking open the door to her truck.

"Wait! Annie, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you angry!" he cried, scrambling in front of the truck.

"I will run your drunken, worthless arse over if you don't get out of my way," she shouted, revving the engine.

Stephen jumped to the curb as she floored the gas pedal, tires smoking and squealing as she tore down the street toward home.