The Burrow

Chapter 25: The Burrow

Winter 1996 – 1997

It was two days after Christmas, and Molly had been extremely moody all day, alternating between weepy and waspish. George had managed to escape to Annie's just after the family had eaten lunch.

"And where do you think you're off to?" Molly had snapped at him, her eyes rimmed with red.

"I'm off to check on the shop – think I'll do a little year-end bookkeeping," George had lied coolly as he bundled himself into his coat.

"I'll help," Fred offered, eager to leave the depressive atmosphere as well.

"No, no, you're no use at all with numbers. Stay here and keep Mum company, why don't you," snickered George with a wink.

Lucky bastard to have an excuse, Fred fumed in his seat, manually shuffling a deck of cards. Bloody git for not sharing it!

The afternoon wore on in excruciatingly slow fashion. So much so that Fred had dozed off in a room full of quietly chatting people only to wake up in a nearly empty one as his mother rose and made her way into the kitchen.

"Come help me get dinner on the table, Fred," she whimpered.

"Ah, Mum, why don't you ask the girls?" he whined.

"I don't know where Ginny is, and I... I don't want to bother Fleur," she answered dolefully. Her lower lip started to tremble, and he could tell her thoughts had turned once more to Percy.

A string of silent obscenities poured forth in his head. He wasn't sure which of his brothers – George or Percy – he would most like to pummel at the moment. "Fine, Mum. I'll help," he sighed, heaving himself off the sofa.

"Dear Fred. I can always count on you, can't I?" she mumbled, a sad smile on her face.

Merlin's hairy arse! He couldn't stand any more of this moping! It was time for drastic measures. Quickly, a plan began to form in his mind: something to cheer his mum and revenge himself on George for abandoning him to this misery....

"So, Mum... have you spoken with George lately?" Fred asked, keeping his voice purposefully cryptic as he began magically peeling a large pile of carrots. He certainly wasn't going to perform any manual labor, for Merlin's sake!

"George? No. Why ever for, dear?" his mother asked, perplexed.

"Oh. That is surprising. Hmm...." He waited patiently, letting the bait hang there between them.

"Why is that?" Molly's brow was wrinkled in confusion.

"Well, it's not really my place to say, I suppose. It's just that I thought surely he'd told you by now...." She must be overwrought not to get suspicious of this, Fred thought. He could hardly be more blatantly obvious.

"Told me what?" She was sounding exasperated now.

Fred hammed it up, screwing his face up as if he was seriously debating what to do next.

"Spit it out, Fred," she demanded impatiently.

"Well..." he said, drawing out the word. He made a big show of looking around to see if anyone else was in earshot.

Baffled, his mother did the same.

Fred leaned down to whisper in her ear, working his mother's curious nature to his profit. The payoff was coming....

"George has a girlfriend!" he said conspiratorially. "Pretty serious, I think. Been seeing her since last summer. You won't tell him I told you, will you?"

At first, Molly's mouth dropped in shock, then her eyes lit up and a big smile spread over her features. "That's wonderful! Who is the lucky girl? Do you know her? Ah, who would've known? Of all the.... George!" She dithered about the kitchen, not really expecting any answers to her questions, forgetting that she'd asked Fred to help with anything.

And now Fred leaned back in his chair, smug smile on his face, looking forward to George coming home.

George should have been more suspicious before he opened the door. Granted, it wasn't all that late, but he had thought it a bit odd that the kitchen windows were still lit up from within at this hour. Oh, well. Hindsight and all that.

"George? Is that you?" called his mother when she heard the door open.

As his eyes adjusted to all the light, he realized his mother must have been sitting there for who knew how long, waiting to pounce on him. She rushed over to embrace him, a huge smile on her face. Odd as her behavior was, it was a welcome change at least to the moping woman he had left behind earlier in the day, he thought.

"Welcome home, dear! Sit down, have some biscuits. I'll make you a cup of tea, shall I? Or perhaps some warm milk?" She busied herself at the stove.

"Erm, thanks Mum," he mumbled, confused. A small voice in his brain warned him something wasn't quite right, encouraged him to escape, but he never passed up a chance to eat on principle. He sat down and started munching on a cookie.

"Here you are, then." She set a cup of tea in front of him. She was positively beaming.

This is getting more bizarre by the minute, George thought. He stirred some milk into his tea.

"So, I thought we might take a moment, just you and me, well, to chat. Catch up on the latest, hmm? Anything new with you, dear?" she asked expectantly.

George stuffed another cookie into his mouth. He shrugged and shook his head silently. He was completely at sea now, and the confusion was evident on his face.

"Nothing at all?" she prompted. Her tone was beginning to sound impatient.

Alarm bells began ringing loudly in his head. She thinks she knows something, George realized, quailing at the thought. What sort of trap is this?

"Met anyone special?" she asked pointedly.

George choked on the cookie, spewing crumbs over the table. It was clear what she was hinting at now, and if she knew about that, he also knew exactly where the information had to come from. I'll murder him in his bed, he swore to himself.

"You mean a girl, don't you?" he answered once his throat was clear.

He had initially planned to deny it, but then reconsidered when he saw the obvious joy on her face as she clapped her hands together over her mouth and gasped. She had been so morose lately, especially after the latest fiasco with Percy.

"Oh, George! I'm so happy for you! I want to meet her! You are going to bring her 'round, aren't you?" she exclaimed.

That confirmed it. This wasn't a random fishing expedition on her part. She had knowledge aforehand. And for all intents and purposes, she had also just fingered the informant.

"Sure, if you like," he reluctantly agreed, itching to get out of the kitchen and hunt down his quarry.

"When? Soon? Oh, I can't wait to meet her!" she gushed.

"I don't know, Mum. We'll see, all right? I'll ask her when she'll be free. Calm down!" he insisted.

Molly had jumped up from the table and proceeded to energetically hug her son. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" She patted his cheek and bounced off up the stairs to bed, humming a happy tune.

George followed upstairs soon after his mother. His room was dark as he opened the door. He stepped inside, then shoved it shut with a loud bang. "I know you're in here," he said quietly into the dark.

A diabolical chuckle answered him. "Mum certainly sounded happy just now."

"You're a dead man, you know that?" George growled.

"Bring it," dared Fred.

"Shut up, the both of you," mumbled Bill, half-asleep.

The next day, Fred discovered his plan had backfired on him in an unforeseen way. His mother did indeed spend that morning pestering George to invite his "new" girlfriend 'round to meet the family, as expected. And he found his brother's discomfort was quite enjoyable, as usual.

What Fred had not anticipated, to his dismay, was how his mother now began to badger him about meeting a girl, settling down, et cetera. First Bill had chained himself to the matrimonial barge (lovely as it was to look at), and now George was tentatively dipping his toe in the waters of commitment. When would he be bringing a nice girl 'round? Merlin's beard!

Still, George's lot was the worst, he figured, so he added this one to the victory tally.

"I think I'll go out for a walk," said George, just after lunch.

"You don't fool me, silly boy! Why don't you ask her to dinner tomorrow?" Molly said, giving him a knowing smile.

She's probably busy," he said in an attempt to dodge her.

"The next night, then. Any night this week. Any night this month!" Molly cried.

"Yes, George – just turn on the charm. She won't be able to say no!" Fred couldn't resist adding.

"Don't get me started on you! Leave your brother alone! At least he makes an effort!" Molly snapped, swatting him on the head.

"Yeah, Fred. At least I make an effort! Why can't you be more like me?" George called over his shoulder on his way out the door.

*

The day had finally arrived for Annie to meet George's parents. George had tried to fend them off as long as possible, to the point that things were getting quite dodgy between him and his mother. He thanked his lucky stars he was no longer living at home, in which case the henpecking would have been ten times worse.

Finally, she threatened to send him Howlers on the hour at the Wheezes shop unless he confirmed a date within the next week. Grudgingly admitting defeat, he had invited Annie to dinner at the Burrow.

They walked together through the frozen forest along the way from Annie's house. George was dragging his feet, trying to make the walk last longer. It certainly wasn't because he was ashamed of Annie; neither was he worried about how his parents would react. On the contrary, he was confident they would fall in love with her on the spot. Not to mention how eagerly he was anticipating the moment of denouement when they discovered who she really was after all these years.

His reticence stemmed from the fact that he was being forced to share her with everyone now, thanks to Fred's big mouth. A part of him wouldn't have minded keeping her all to himself forever.

"Hurry up, George!" Annie tugged at his arm, marching ahead of him.

"What's the rush?" he complained.

"I'm freezing! Let's go!"

"C'mere. I'll keep you warm," he said as he smiled and pulled her back toward him.

They finally arrived at the back door of the Burrow. The walk, which should have taken fifteen minutes at most, had been stretched into forty. Their cheeks were rosy from more than just the brisk air.

George took a deep breath and squeezed Annie's hand. "Into the fire, then!" he said teasingly.

Annie recognized the wicked, anticipatory smile on his face, and a mild sense of wary foreboding began to descend upon her.

Molly and Arthur were waiting to greet her on the other side of the door. She took in the sight of George's parents. They were exactly as she had pictured them: kindly, friendly, and smiling. And, of course, as ginger as the rest of the family.

George's mother was beaming. "Hello, dear!" she cried, opened her arms wide, and embraced her.

Arthur wore a bemused smile. "Welcome!" he offered from a more polite distance.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for inviting me," Annie said.

"Please call me Molly, dear," his mother said as she took the pie Annie offered to her.

"And you must call me Arthur. We're not much for formalities here, you'll find."

Annie smiled her thanks. Molly stared pointedly at George.

"Oh, erm, Mum, Dad, this is Annie. Annie Jones," said George awkwardly.

"Annie! What a lovely name! We're so thrilled to meet you. Come in and sit down; make yourself at home. Let me just go check on dinner. I'll be right back," Molly gushed as she flitted about.

The four of them, for Fred had just walked into the room, found seats. Fred gave Annie an encouraging wink as he noisily flopped down onto a chair.

She began to gaze around the room, amazed at how every cozy little corner was crammed with something magical doing something impossible. Knitting needles were knitting a scarf independently of human hands. Cards were shuffling themselves on a table. A clock with nine hands and no numbers ticked quietly for no readily discernable purpose.

"Annie, is it?" Arthur chuckled. "That name brings to mind a funny story. Quite embarrassing for the boys, I'll wager. We used to have a running joke about someone named Annie. These two used to blame all their naughty hijinks on an imaginary friend of theirs. You must remind me to tell you about it some day."

The brothers weakly smothered snorts and snickers. Annie squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa next to George. So this was how it was going to be: they had given their parents no advance knowledge whatsoever. She suspected she was about to be their latest prank.

Molly bounced into the living room to announce that dinner was ready. They followed her into the kitchen and arranged themselves around the table: Arthur at the head, Molly and Fred to his left, Annie and George to his right.

As they began to eat, Molly eagerly dived into conversation. "So, tell us about yourself, Annie. George has been very tight-lipped when it comes to you." She cast an aggravated look his way.

"Erm... I'm not sure where to start," Annie replied demurely.

"How about the beginning, then? Did the two of you meet at school?"

Annie nervously wondered how long Molly's friendly smile would last once she knew the truth. Fred and George had both assured her that after an initial shock, their parents would warm to her quickly and wouldn't mind in the least that she wasn't a witch. They seemed quite certain that this fact would be an especially funny joke to their mother – if not at first, then at least eventually. But the whole thing was feeling more and more like a setup to her.

"Well, ahh... n-no...." She paused, looking to George for help.

He was staring at his plate, his mouth full of food, but she could tell the corners were ever so slightly turned up in a sly smile. She tapped her foot smartly against his shin. He coughed, then swallowed, but refused to look up.

Arthur didn't seem to notice anything amiss, thoughtfully chewing. Perhaps he hadn't heard her. Molly, however, looked slightly confused.

"Annie didn't go to Hogwarts, Mum," George answered for her, barely intelligible. He was still looking at his plate, pretending to be intent on shoveling food into his mouth at a record-breaking pace. He was also finding it difficult to smother a grin.

That tidbit of information finally got Arthur's attention. His fork paused in midair with the next bite. The confused look had not left Molly's face.

"I went to school in the village," Annie explained, all her confidence draining away. Why do I sound like I'm confessing a crime?

"What village would that be?" Molly asked, foundering.

"Ottery St. Catchpole?" Annie tried to sound as upbeat as possible, despite the sense of impending doom that was settling upon her. She was making plans to throttle the twins for hanging her out to dry like this.

She watched the light beginning to dawn on Molly's face, her eyes widening slightly in shock. Arthur slowly let his fork fall to the table.

"I'm what you call a – a Muggle," Annie said hesitantly.

Continued silence met her confession.

"Am I saying that right, George, darling?"

Annie turned to glare at George, forcing the last endearment through her teeth. Her fists were gripping the hem of her skirt under the table in nervous agitation. He busied himself by scooping another helping of peas onto his plate. She dug her heel into what she reckoned was his foot – he merely winced slightly in response.

"This is delicious, Mum! One of your best!" exclaimed a beaming Fred, far too loudly.

Molly and Arthur both were startled by Fred's jovial exuberance. Annie shot him a look warning him to stop enjoying himself or else. She looked back at Molly, then Arthur. They were now both giving George stern looks in stereo.

"Is everything all right? Have I done something wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned. Maybe George overestimated his parents' tolerance of a relationship such as theirs. Maybe the rules against it were stricter than he had let on. Maybe they were in trouble....

"No, no, dear, everything's just fine," Arthur reassured her, smiling for her benefit. "It's just that, well, George didn't tell us...."

"And he should have told us," interrupted Molly, scolding her son through her teeth.

"That you were a, well, erm...." Arthur faltered.

"Muggle?" Annie offered.

"Well, yes," sighed Arthur.

"My, my, George, what were you thinking?" Fred tsked his tongue.

A second later, Fred grimaced and involuntarily sucked in his breath. Annie silently cheered George for the kick she was sure he had just launched at his brother from under the table.

Molly was beginning to recover her composure. Her smile was just as friendly as before, but her voice had a slight undertone of exasperation now. "Well, then, Annie, dear.... Wherever did you meet George, if not at school?"

Annie felt a pang of sympathy for George's mother. Poor Molly was being so nice to her, trying so hard to be pleasant through this. She was left hung out to dry this evening, too. And it wasn't about to get any easier for either of them. Annie swore silently to herself that Fred and George would be punished for this somehow.

She steeled herself: nothing for it but to do it. She plunged in to the truth of the matter. "We met in the woods here, over by the stream, if I recall."

George finally spoke up voluntarily. "In the big oak tree, to be precise."

"The woods? Really? I didn't realize Mug-... erm, village folk bothered much with the forest," Molly said, a look of mild surprise crossing her face.

Fred laughed out loud. "They don't. Only Annie does. She's just weird that way," he interjected.

"Fred!" Molly scolded. "That's quite enough rudeness out of you this evening."

But Fred pressed on. "You know, George, I have the strangest sense of déjà vu right now."

"Like we've had this conversation before, you mean?" laughed George.

Annie recognized the setup routine. They were going for the punch line.

"Exactly. I seem to recall discussing..."

"Being interrogated, more like..."

"Meeting a Muggle girl..."

"From the village..."

"In the woods..."

"Hmm, I'd say about, oh, eleven years ago, was it?"

Fred and George burst out in guffaws. They were having so much fun; Annie couldn't help but smile at them. She quickly stifled it, though, after glancing at Molly.

"I fail to see anything funny about this!" Molly cried, flustered.

"Boys!" Arthur called them to order. "Please explain yourselves," he commanded.

"Mum," George explained with a victorious smile, "this is the Annie."

Molly's brow furrowed in confused frustration. "The... Annie?" she whispered quietly, trying to comprehend.

A few more seconds passed.

"Blimey!" Arthur muttered, reaching the correct conclusion before his wife. Hadn't he just been thinking of it before dinner?

Molly got there a second after. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and her eyes boggled, staring at Annie with new understanding.

Annie smiled hopefully back at her, praying she wasn't about to be thrown out of the house.

"You're real!" Molly exclaimed quietly.

"Real as apples, I'm afraid," Annie answered consolingly.

"And as sweet, I might add," piped up George with a wink in Annie's direction.

She answered him with a withering look that informed him it was too little, too late. Meanwhile, Fred pretended to gag at all the sweet talk.

"All those times you lot were in trouble... and you blamed it on Annie... and I never believed you...." Molly was fumbling for words, still flabbergasted.

"Well, likely not quite all those times," George confessed.

"But a fair portion, to be sure," Fred insisted.

"The mud bath?" Molly whispered.

"Fred started that one!" Annie claimed in her own defense.

"All those pieces of stolen attic furniture... blown to bits over the years?" Molly gasped.

"Yes, well, sorry about those," Annie mumbled, averting her eyes and bowing her head. She had rather enjoyed all that destruction, whenever the boys or she had managed to get their hands on any explosives. It had been ages ago, though, since they'd done anything like that.

"Burning down the old wooden shed?" Molly cried weakly.

"Guilty as charged for nearly all of it – except for the shed business. I assure you I hadn't even heard about that one," Annie said with remorse mixed with amusement at her own recollections of the events mentioned. "I should probably apologize to you for being party to... well, Fred and George in general... as we were growing up," she added with perfect sincerity.

Annie faced George's still gobsmacked parents, feeling a nervous twisting sensation settling in her stomach. She was still waiting to see some sign of the promised enjoyment of the situation on their part. This really doesn't seem like it's going as well as they'd planned, she thought.

Arthur stood up silently and made his way to a cupboard. "Alohamora," he muttered, then opened the little door. He reached in and took out a large bottle of brown liquid and a glass.

"I'll have one of those as well, if you please, dear," Molly said shakily.

Arthur pulled out another glass and brought the items all back to the table. He poured a generous finger's worth of the liquor in each of the glasses – Annie caught a glimpse of the word "Firewhiskey" on the label – then set one in front of his wife.

"Ten years, now, Arthur," Molly mumbled.

"Eleven, Molly," Arthur corrected her, then knocked back the shot.

Molly emitted a squeak as Arthur's declaration registered. "All this time... a village Muggle girl's known about us...." She brought the trembling glass to her lips and drank it in one gulp, then coughed.

"And nothing has happened," Fred reminded them. "Not in eleven years."

"Relax, Mum," George assured her. "Annie's never told another soul."

Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh out loud. "Well now, Molly, this is quite a pot of plimpies!"

Molly had not quite gotten over the shock, but a sheepish smile was beginning to cross her features. Annie wasn't sure if it was due to her acceptance of her sons' explanations or the Firewhiskey.

Annie offered to help Molly clear the table after dinner was finished. Arthur headed out to the living room to listen to the wireless, and Fred and George followed in order to escape doing any work. Though it wasn't as if doing dishes in a witch's kitchen was real work. Molly flicked her wand first at the table, then at the sink, and the dishes literally did themselves. Annie and Molly merely sat together at the table, sipping tea.

Annie was still astounded by how well George's mother had taken the revelations at dinner. After a few minutes of initial shock, Molly had returned to her warm, friendly self, just as George had predicted. They had all laughed quite a bit throughout dinner, recounting several stories from the twins' childhood which had now taken on a new significance.

"That was a lovely pie, dear. Did your mother teach you?" Molly asked in a friendly tone.

"No – my Gran. She's been teaching me to cook for many years now," Annie replied.

"Oh, how nice. Do you spend much time with your grandmother, then?" she asked kindly.

Annie still felt badly about how Fred and George had blindsided their mother this evening. Not to mention the guilt she felt over all the trouble she had helped cause for so many years. She felt she owed it to Molly to be as honest as possible. So even though she hated talking about this story – her dark and sordid past – she was willing to do it tonight in order to give Molly something to make up for her sons' shabby treatment.

"Yes. I live with her, actually. Always have. I've never known my mother," Annie explained.

"I'm so sorry, dear. How difficult it must have been for you, growing up without a mother." Molly patted her hand sympathetically. "It's all right if you don't want to talk about it...."

"Thanks." Annie steeled herself with a deep breath. "I don't mind," she lied. Well, here goes, she thought.

"My mother was twenty years old when my grandfather died. She took it quite hard, apparently. Gran says she just... sort of... broke apart. Couldn't move beyond it. She fell in with the wrong crowd, so to speak, in her grief. She became addicted to drugs; I don't know if you have the equivalent, in your world, so you might not understand what I'm talking about."

Annie paused. She noticed George was standing in the doorway, gazing at her thoughtfully. She had already confessed this story to him not so very long ago now.

Molly spoke softly. "I think I do, dear."

"They took over her life. Gran tried everything to get her to clean herself up, but nothing worked. Finally, Gran says, she felt she just had to let go, to wash her hands of it. She couldn't take the heartbreak of watching her daughter kill herself like that, I suppose. She told her daughter that she wasn't welcome at home any more; kicked her out, cut her off."

Annie paused again. George had silently re-entered the kitchen while she had been speaking. Now he sat down beside her, folded her into his arms and pulled her close for moral support. She reckoned she appreciated his gesture more than he would ever know. Annie looked down at her hands resting on the table and continued her story.

"Five years went by without a word, not even a call. Then early one morning, Gran's phone rang. They told her they were calling from a hospital in London and to come up right away. They wouldn't tell her why over the phone. Gran assumed it was to collect her daughter's body. She was pretty upset, as you can imagine.

"But when she got to the hospital, they took her to the maternity ward, not the morgue. The doctor there showed her a slip of paper. It was a birth certificate form with Gran's name, address and phone number written on it, and one more word: sorry.

"My mother had snuck out of the hospital twelve hours after I was born, the doctor told her, and never came back.

"Then they took my Gran into the nursery. There I was, lying in a bassinet, screaming my head off. I was born addicted to heroin, they said. It would take about a week or so for the drug to leave my system, but then Gran could take me home if she wanted. Or she could fill out the adoption forms that day and leave. They just needed the next of kin to make a decision, one way or the other.

"Gran says she started yelling at the doctor right there. How could he even think she would give me up? she railed at him. Really gave him the business, she brags. She says she took over a room in the hospital and wouldn't let them kick her out. She spent every hour of every day of that time with me, holding me while I screamed and detoxed.

"She always tells me she fell in love with me that first week. I tell her she's a glutton for punishment. She brought me home, here, to Ottery. We've always lived in the house just on the other side of these woods.

"I'll be nineteen years old next month and, to my knowledge, I've never laid eyes on my mother. Never heard a word from her my whole life and don't care anymore if I ever do. My Gran's all the family I ever had, and that suits me just fine."

Annie took a deep breath to indicate she was finished. She had been staring with unfocused eyes at the tablecloth. Now she looked up at Molly seated across from her to find she had a tear glistening on her cheek.

"Your Gran is my kind of lady, Annie. I hope I get to meet her one day," she sniffed. Molly reached out and squeezed one of Annie's hands resting on the table.

"I should probably take you home now," George spoke quietly in Annie's ear.

She nodded. It was getting late – time to get back home to Gran. They stood up from the table and George went to gather their coats.

"Thanks again, Molly. I had a lovely time. Sorry for... well, you know: George and Fred."

Molly waved off her apology. "Anytime, dear. I hope you'll come back very soon. I have the most adorable photos of them as babies to show you next time!" The glint in her eye was unmistakable: she was looking forward to her revenge on the twins as much as Annie was.

"I can't wait to see them!" gushed Annie as George began to wind a scarf around her neck, then up over her face. Annie batted him away. She called out her goodbyes to Fred and Arthur as George bustled her out the door.

"Finally, I get you all to myself for a few bloody minutes!" he sighed when they reached the far side of the garden. "That was very well played tonight. Mum and Dad are totally smitten with you. I know the feeling myself, of course," he purred, sidling up to her from behind, nuzzling her cheek.

Ooh, he is smooth. "Don't think you're getting out of trouble that easily. You left me swinging in the breeze at dinner, you... you..." she snapped, casting about for a suitable insult.

Before she could hit on one appropriately damaging, he had spun her around and was kissing her. Unfair! her brain cried out, but her body's response stifled all further protest.