It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Chapter 26: It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Winter 1997

"Bottom's up, Annie!" cried Fred. "It's not like you have a birthday every year, you know!" He laughed uproariously at his own joke.

Technically, it was true, Annie admitted to herself. Technically, as well, this year was not a birthday year for her; next year would be. She wondered if perhaps Fred's thought process was slightly muddied by all the beer.

The waitress stepped up to the table. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked. Annie supposed she intended the question for the entire table, but the woman had directed herself to Fred alone.

"I think we're finished," chuckled George. "Fred's got a full tank, anyway," he added under his breath for Annie's benefit alone.

"Just your phone number, then, Beautiful!" Fred replied, grinning ridiculously at her.

Annie rolled her eyes at Fred's heavy-handed, albeit most likely drunken, attempt at flirting, but the waitress was apparently smitten nonetheless. She giggled, made a show of biting her lip in pretend hesitation, and wrote her number on an unused paper coaster.

"I'm done here in an hour," she cooed as she handed it to him, then walked slowly back to the bar.

"I love Muggle girls," Fred sighed as he watched her walk away.

"I know what you mean," George replied.

Annie spun around to give him a smack, but he was too quick for her. He caught her hand in midair, then laced his fingers into hers. He smiled and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Just one of them, anyway."

"That's more like it," Annie said, and she gave him a forgiving smile.

Turning to Fred, she sized him up for sobriety. If this was his last drink, she reckoned he'd likely be fine in an hour or so. Still, she was a bit worried about her friend.

"Fred, make sure you let her drive if you go anywhere, all right? And just... you know... be careful," she said pointedly, hoping to get the message across. She didn't like the idea of making assumptions like this about other women, but the waitress was making her intentions pretty plain, so Annie didn't feel too guilty about it.

Fred snorted indignantly. "I absolutely will not! When have you ever known me to be careful?"

"That's precisely my point," she argued. This was awkward, but he was a bit impaired at the moment, and she didn't want anything stupid to happen because of it, so she tried being a bit clearer, albeit quietly so. "I'm just saying, you know, be sure you use protection."

"What? You mean a wand? Whatever for?" Fred looked baffled. "She comes across as rather the friendly sort to me," he muttered.

Annie let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn't funny, and she didn't appreciate the joke. She looked to George for help and was aggravated to see an equally baffled look on his face, too. Bloody immature prats, she fumed. They were going to make her say it out loud.

"Oh, grow up, both of you!" she snapped. "It's not a laughing matter, Fred. You don't know anything about that girl. Don't do something stupid you'll regret. Just make sure you wear protection."

The baffled looks on both of them persisted.

"Annie, honestly, what are you on about?" George's voice sounded perfectly earnest.

Oh, dear God. Could they really not know? "Didn't you ever talk about... you know... birth control... with anyone before?" she stammered.

Both boys had quite serious looks on their faces now, intently listening to her every word. George shook his head ever so slightly.

Annie wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. "Wait here. I'll be back in a minute, and we'll continue this discussion."

She made her way to the ladies' toilet, positive that her face would burst into flames at any second. She bought two condoms from the vending machine on the wall there and tucked them into her pocket.

A woman putting on lipstick at the mirror smiled and gave her a wink. "Atta girl!" she cried. "Have your fun, darlin'!"

Annie splashed cold water on her blazing face for a few seconds before heading back to the table to surely die of embarrassment. At least they weren't in Ottery, where someone she knew might have recognized her, she thought gratefully.

She sat down, then dug the little packets back out of her pocket. She tried to discreetly hand them to the boys, but had no luck. Fred began curiously examining the thing, turning it over in his hands in plain view. George, being significantly more sober, had noticed instructions written in tiny print on one side and was reading them under the table lamp. After a few moments, Fred noticed, then copied his brother.

"Sweet bloody Christ!" George exclaimed an instant later, in a rush to pocket the thing.

Fred just sat there, gobsmacked for the moment. Half a crooked smile broke over his face. "D'you mean to tell me," he asked in a quiet, awed voice, "that you can shag all you like with one o' these on your...." He paused, thankfully letting the word go unsaid, before continuing, "and never worry about nothin'?"

"That's why it's called 'protection,' moron," Annie replied in a smart-aleck tone but still squirmed uncomfortably.

"How the bloody hell do you know about this?" hissed George in curious shock.

"Calm down!" she hissed back defensively. "It's common knowledge in my world! I mean, we even talked about it in health class at school. I swear to God I am about to smack that look right off your face, Fred Weasley!"

"Burbage never talked about this in Muggle Studies, did she?" mused Fred, gazing at his brother in amazement. "I reckon I would've remembered a lesson as useful as that. This is fuckin' brilliant!" he cried excitedly, then guffawed at his unintentional pun.

"Keep your voice down!" demanded Annie.

"I really love Muggle girls!" exclaimed Fred only slightly less loudly as he shot George another look and smiled. Then he glanced over to the bar and caught the waitress' eye.

She wiggled her fingers in a little wave and smiled. Fred returned the wave and smiled as well.

"Common knowledge, you say?" Fred pondered that thought aloud, obviously pleased with the implications. He turned back to his companions at the table after another moment. "Well, I won't keep you two any longer. Off you go! Don't mind me, I'll find my way home some way or another, George. And don't bother waiting up, old man." And with that, he sauntered over to the bar where the waitress was standing, giving him a come-hither stare.

"I don't think I want to see any more of this, do you?" Annie forced a chuckle, feeling nervous regret at unleashing Fred on the unsuspecting females of the world. "Let's go."

"Thought you'd never ask," groaned George, sounding rather dyspeptic himself.

It started to rain as they drove home. By the time they reached Annie's house, the night-black sky had opened up. They sat in the truck for a few minutes, hoping the torrent would let up. They kissed for a while to kill time, trying to wait out the downpour, but noise of the rain on the truck's roof was terribly loud in the small, chilly space.

"Let's make a run for it, shall we?" she suggested, deciding she couldn't stand it any longer.

George agreed. They leaped out of the truck together and dashed up the back steps. While Annie unlocked the door as quickly as she could, she instructed George, "Quiet as you can, all right? Watch for me."

He nodded, then followed her inside. He understood the necessity for stealth: it was past Annie's normal curfew, past the time when he was welcome to be in Meredith's house.

Just inside the door, she took off her shoes; he did the same, holding them in one hand. She held up a hand to tell him to stand and wait. He obeyed, meanwhile dripping on the kitchen floor. Annie crept to the open door of her Gran's bedroom. He could hear the quiet sounds and see the flickering light of the television behind it.

"Just me, Gran. Need anything before I'm off to bed?" she asked her.

George heard Meredith yawn as the TV was muted. "No, thank you, dear. Did you have a nice time?"

Annie nodded. "'Night, then."

When she was clear of the doorway, she turned back to George and motioned for him to go into her bedroom, rather than the front room, where they usually spent their evenings together prior to eleven p.m. Then she turned the other way, creeping down the hallway.

George was pleasantly surprised and suddenly nervous at the same time. Annie's bedroom was only a few steps away from where he was now standing. How many hours had he spent sitting here in the kitchen or there in the front room over the past few months? Yet he had never set foot in here, he thought as he crossed the previously forbidden threshold into the dim sanctum, silently closing the door behind him.

Unexpectedly, a small light on the bedside table flicked on. For an instant, he was blinded. Squinting, he saw Annie's arm pull away from the wall switch, then back out through the other doorway from her bedroom that led to the hallway. He wondered briefly where she had gone.

While he waited for her to return, he began to look around. The walls of Annie's room were painted a crisp white, just like every other wall in the house that he'd seen. It looked nothing like Ginny's room, though – the only other girl's bedroom he'd ever had reason to be in. Ginny had crammed loads of pictures and trinkets and books into far too small a space. It appeared that Annie, on the other hand, was not a fan of clutter.

Her room held a full-sized bed, neatly made and covered with a patchwork quilt composed exclusively of shades of blue. The bedside table held a small lamp that was currently the sole illumination for the room, as well as an alarm clock. The only other furniture was a small roll-top desk that was closed and a small bookcase which held perhaps only a dozen books. Arranged on the rest of the shelves were some seashells, a bird's nest, a few dried flowers, and the scarab he and Fred had bought for her in Egypt. He recognized several of the treasures Annie had collected in the woods and on the beach with them as a child.

A large frame perched on top of the bookcase attracted his attention next. It held a collage of photos: all were of their trip to the beach two summers ago. He was familiar with only five of them; the rest he had never seen before. It pleased him immensely that he was in every one of them.

Annie tapped gently on his shoulder then, and he turned to look at her. She was holding out a towel for him. She already had one draped over her shoulders and was using it to gently dry her hair. He noticed she had closed the hallway door behind her.

"Stop dripping on my floor, you nosy git," she scolded in a whisper.

He shook his head vigorously like a wet dog, splattering her with raindrops. She giggled almost silently as he hung the unused towel around his neck. He picked up the frame, holding it out for them to study together.

He pointed at one near the center. It was a photo of him, asleep. "That's a bit creepy, huh?" he whispered and smiled.

"I know! Sorry! I had such a crush on you then, I was a bit mental," she replied.

"I don't mean the snap – I mean me," he chuckled. "I was probably having very indecent dreams about you at that moment," he confessed. He set the frame back on the bookcase and pulled Annie in close for a kiss.

George shivered involuntarily, whether from the kiss or his wet clothing he wasn't sure, and Annie pushed herself away slightly.

"You should get out of those wet clothes," she said, "before you catch cold. I've put a shirt and pajama pants on the bed there – the largest-sized things I have. They likely still won't fit, you are so freakishly tall, but it should be an entertaining sight." She laughed quietly.

He examined the black t-shirt and blue flannel pants on the bed. The pants would be far too short, but the waist did have a drawstring, so they might work. He quietly began making clucking hen sounds to tease her.

"Give me your wet things, and I'll put them in the dryer. You can have them back in less than an hour," she giggled.

George pulled off his wet shirt over his head.

Annie looked up at him with a sly smile, laying her hands on his now bare chest and tracing the outlines of the muscles there. "This is my favorite birthday present ever," she said, only half-teasing.

George pulled her closer and they started kissing again. His shirt flopped wetly to the floor.

"Your turn," he whispered in her ear. "Wouldn't want you to get the sniffles, you know," he added. He took the hem of her shirt in his hands and lifted it gently.

Annie eagerly lifted her arms over her head.

George echoed her earlier motions on his chest: caressing her collar, shoulders, lingering over her chest. He bent to kiss the notch on the top of her breastbone where the heart pendant rested.

Annie thought she might faint. To her surprise, she discovered every cliché she had ever read in a romantic novel was apparently accurate: her knees were weak, she couldn't catch her breath, her stomach was performing a gymnastic routine, and her heart was pounding with deafening echoes in her ears.

Annie slowly drew her hands down George's torso to his waist without stopping the kiss. She heard his sharp intake of breath as her fingers worked to undo his belt, then button, then zipper. He had one hand on the small of her back, pressing her waist tightly against him, and the fingers of the other were tangled in her still-damp hair. Keeping their lips together, she momentarily pulled her hips slightly away from his.

George preferred to wear his trousers loose, and they were bottom heavy due to being soaked from the rain. Without Annie's body or the belt holding them in place, they fell to his ankles. He stepped out of them toward Annie, reuniting the connection of their bodies from the previous moment.

Their kissing was more urgent now. Their hands couldn't explore each other fast enough. They kissed for several minutes more, clutching each other tightly, unable to press their bodies together tightly enough to satisfy the yearning for contact. Electricity overloaded every nerve ending in her skin.

George's fingers became frustrated with Annie's waistband. "A little help, here," he urged in a whisper.

She dislodged her fingers from his neck and began taking off her soaking wet jeans herself with a little bit of a struggle. She became unbalanced in the process, and they both giggled as he caught her by the arm before she could fall to the floor with a crash.

Some of the frantic energy had now dissipated due to the humorous moment. They resumed kissing, caressing more gently now. George found more success with unhooking Annie's bra and slid the straps off her shoulders. While his focus was drawn to the previously unexplored territory of her bare breasts, Annie used her fingers to slide the waistband of his underwear off his hips, and they fell to the floor.

George held Annie's body tightly to his own, relishing the electrifying heat of skin-to-skin contact. He lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He bent and set her down on the bed. Annie then leaned back, propping her head and shoulders up with her elbows.

George's mind was racing. He reckoned he understood enough about the mechanics of what was about to happen. He'd read his share of racy stories and seen enough movie love scenes to know what was coming in a rudimentary way. Not to mention the innumerable dreams he'd had about it. He figured he knew pretty well what to expect: how this was going to feel – the pleasure of release – for himself, at least. He was, after all, a healthy nineteen-year-old boy and no stranger to the solitary pursuit of self-gratification.

And now it was about be his turn to experience it himself. For real. With Annie.

George took a moment to stare at her. He was grateful she had left the light on, enabling him to take in the sight. None of his fantasies had come close to accurately portraying the golden hue of her bare skin or the graceful curves of her figure. Or the desirous look in her violet eyes which nearly made him gasp aloud.

Annie smiled with what she hoped was encouragement. She was rewarded with a reverent smile from George; he seemed pleased with her. She reveled in the sensations of his hands as they trailed down her body from her shoulders. When he reached her waist, she lifted her hips an inch from the bed. He looked up into her eyes for a moment, searching for confirmation, then back to her body as he pulled the last tiny bit of clothing off of her.

He crawled onto the bed, holding the weight of his body well above hers. She let her head fall back to rest on the pillows and reached out to pull his body down closer to her. She drew her knees up, pressing the insides of her thighs against his hips.

Annie laced her fingers behind his neck and started kissing him again. She felt the pressure of his body on hers increase slightly and longed for even more. She wanted to pull him down onto her, for George to crush himself against her. He could not get close enough to satisfy her craving for him. The pulse of desire was pounding so loudly in her head, her ears were practically ringing.

"I'm ready," she whispered.

He lifted himself up again so he could look once more into her eyes. Without looking away from him, Annie reached over and opened the bedside table drawer with one hand. She pulled out a now familiar-looking little packet. George briefly glanced at it, then returned his gaze to Annie's violet eyes.

"Allow me?" she whispered and smiled.

George smiled tentatively in answer. He heard a tiny ripping-paper sound, then a second later felt her fingertips put the condom on. He gasped and closed his eyes. He had been mistaken, before: he had apparently vastly underestimated how this was going to feel. He fell back to kissing her.

Annie thrilled to hear him make another gasp when she had touched him so intimately. It pleased her to think that she could make him as wild with desire as she was feeling. She loved the raw force of his kisses now. She took his hips in her hands and pulled him to her.

George plunged into Annie. He heard her briefly inhale, her breath slightly hissing through her teeth. Then she uttered a little moan, followed by a deep sigh.

He was astonished at the intensity of pleasure – no, make that euphoria – that he was feeling. Each little noise she made, each movement of her body, each caress of her hands quickly drove him to the brink. A tiny part of his mind realized that it was too soon, wanted to try to delay it, but had no idea how. He was swept overboard.

Annie clung to George's body. She had never imagined this would feel so wonderful! All the stories she had heard or read had made it sound like the first time was something to be endured, not enjoyed. But she thought she might burst with the joy of it – to finally share this... with him... after the long months of self-denial and restraint. It was too much to be contained....

She heard George groan, then felt him shudder slightly. They were both startled when the bulb of the tiny table lamp beside them exploded with a loud pop in the same instant, plunging the room into darkness.

They lay there together for several minutes, catching their breaths. As the sweat on their bodies began to cool them, then chill them, they crawled under the quilt. George gathered her into his arms. He was quiet for quite a while, and she assumed he might have fallen asleep.

"Are you awake?" he whispered after another minute.

"Yes," she answered.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked gently, full of concern.

"Of course not! It was wonderful!" she assured him honestly.

"Thanks," he chuckled. "Not quite as wonderful for you as it was for me, I expect."

"Don't be silly," she teased, then shifted onto her back. She understood what he meant – that he had climaxed and she hadn't – but it didn't matter to her in the least. She kissed him as he leaned closer, then added, "We just need more practice is all," she said softly with a coy smile.

George murmured in agreement. He stroked her body with long caresses, gently kissing her lips, jaw, neck, collarbone.

"You're driving me mad, you know," she moaned quietly, unable to hold still.

"Show me how," he whispered.

In a million years, Annie never would have imagined she would be capable of what she began to do now. A day ago, even an hour ago, the mere thought of it would have absolutely mortified her. But her desire for George was immediate and overpowering, and he was fueling it further with all his kisses and caresses, his naked closeness. She took his hand in hers and showed him how, the way she had learned all on her own, to bring her to release.

But this was infinitely better than those comparatively desperate times alone. His kisses continued, and his whispers of love in her ear enhanced every previously pleasant and familiar sensation into something new and far superior. She arched her back and softly gasped his name when the zing of electricity zapped through her body, flooding her with a warm, glowing ecstasy.

They both slept lightly for a couple of hours. George began to stir first. He blinked one eye open – the clock told him it was still rather early in the morning – but the light through the window was growing slightly brighter. He had accidentally rolled apart from Annie while they dozed, and his body craved to remedy that mistake. Gently and quietly, he curled himself around her once again.

Annie began to stir as she felt the growing warmth of George's chest against her back. She stretched carefully so as not to break the connection and yawned, ending with a smile.

"Good morning," whispered George.

"The best one ever," she whispered back.

They lay there together for a couple of minutes, savoring the intimate closeness.

Annie soon felt a new pressure point near her hip. "Ahem," she teased and carefully shifted onto her back to face him, smiling.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I'm not used to waking up naked next to a beautiful, naked woman. With a bird's nest for hair, it appears."

She playfully boxed his ears.

He began kissing her again. "Weren't you saying something about practice last night?" he murmured.

She giggled quietly and nodded. "I could get used to this," she whispered.

"Me as well," he agreed, filling his palm with her soft breast.

His kissing and petting quickly brought her to a similar state of arousal. Sweet, silky bits of skin he'd formerly only felt through a layer of lacy bra or satiny knickers were now warm, responsive, and clamoring for his exploratory attention. And then she grabbed his arse with both hands, commandeering and redirecting his attention elsewhere.

Rather more familiar with the territory, so to speak, George was able to implement a few improvements over his first attempt. He managed to hold himself off a bit longer, for one, despite the fact that Annie felt even more amazing this time, if that were indeed theoretically possible. Not to mention she hit upon the most magnificent rhythm with her hips, this go.

How does she make that sound? he marveled when his ears filled with her breathy little whines, impatient and encouraging. It fueled the most incredible feeling in the pit of his groin. Meanwhile, he barely controlled the animalistic urge to grunt with each thrust. Then she moaned his name, and he was lost.

Disappointment in his own sub-par performance slightly diminished the mind-spinning euphoria he felt in the wake of his climax (inasmuch as any post-orgasmic teenage boy could register such a negative emotion). But George had proven himself a determined fellow in many things before this, however, and he set himself the goal of making Annie's current experience better than her first. With barely a pause to get his bearings, his fingers began to work with delicate precision, just as she'd taught him a few short hours before: sliding, plunging, swirling.

He felt her fingernails dig into his shoulder, her body writhe against his. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest, and she bit her lip in an attempt to stifle a shuddering cry of her own. The whole business nearly brought him fully ready to go once again.

"You were paying attention," she gasped, catching her breath as she dazedly lay back on the pillows.

"Quick learner, me," he agreed, also a bit out of breath.

"It's getting late. You'd probably better go," she said reluctantly a few minutes later. She sat up, tossed the quilt off her body, and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back. Then she stood up and surveyed their clothes scattered across her floor.

"They're still a bit damp and horribly wrinkled, but they'll have to do as they are," she whispered as she bent to collect them.

"Come back here," he ordered her.

"George! You have to get dressed!" she scolded in a whisper. Her voice sounded stern, but her face was smiling as she turned back and hopped into the bed. She tossed his clothes onto the blanket at the foot of the bed and dove back into his arms.

He kissed her, then gently rolled her onto her stomach. She felt his fingers tracing something against the small of her back. "What do we have here?" he asked her with a smile in his voice.

Oh, right. She had forgotten about the fact that he had never seen it. She'd kept it carefully and successfully hidden from him at the beach last summer. There must have been just enough ambient light in the room from the streetlight outside for him to notice.

"What does it look like, idiot?" she taunted him.

George summoned his wand from his trousers, and Annie's room lit up with a dim, bluish light. "Hmm. It's obviously a tattoo, but the question is, who the hell is that supposed to be?"

"Don't be thick," she said dismissively as she started to roll away, but he pressed her hip back down onto the mattress with his hand.

"You're not going anywhere until I get some answers," he said playfully. He moved quickly and sat on her legs, pinning her in place on the bed. His fingertip kept caressing the tattoo while he said, "When did you get this, and who is this strange man etched forever into your flesh?"

She tried to use her arms for leverage to roll over and escape, but he caught one of them and gently pulled it behind her body. Far from being in pain, she found being immobilized by him a bit thrilling, to be honest. Frustrating, surely, but also... tantalizing.

"Yes, it is a tattoo," she said.

"Previously established fact. Keep talking," he commanded.

"I've had it for a while," she confessed.

"Hang on.... Flash of insight coming.... Is this the mysterious Christmas gift from two years ago?"

Annie failed to completely stifle a giggle. She was a bit shocked he had connected the dots so quickly. She squirmed a bit, trying futilely to escape rather than admit to anything out loud.

George leaned forward, pressing his body against hers to keep her still, and whispered in her ear. "I'll take that as a yes. And now for the identity of the gentleman in question, who will spend eternity so close to your lovely arse. I'm quite envious, you see. Go on, spill it."

"You can't honestly be as blind as you are stupid," she teased back.

He pulled back up to sit on her legs again, she presumed in order to get another look. "Patron saint of England? St. George and a dragon?" he asked.

Annie responded by pounding her feet on the bed. "Let me up!" she demanded in a loud whisper.

"Aha!" He drew the word out, unfazed by her struggling. Apparently, saying the name out loud triggered a 'eureka' moment for him. "Well, well, my dear. It seems you do care for me. And quite a bit, now, don't you? Saint George, though? That's a stretch."

"You're insufferable!" she cried in a muted voice. "Put your clothes on and go home!"

He chuckled and released his hold, permitting her roll over onto her back again. Then he pinned her down with his body once more, holding her wrists to the mattress at her head. When he spoke next, every phrase was punctuated with teasing kisses along her neck, jaw and collar. "Don't worry... your secret's safe with me.... I must confess... I rather like it. It's almost... sort of... a brand, isn't it?" he taunted her. "Marking my territory... so to speak. Yes... I like that very much indeed."

She desperately wanted to argue with him, if nothing else than for the sake of her self respect. His smugness was infuriating, even if it was justified. But the close weight of his body, compounded by his kisses, was leaving her at a loss for words, much to her chagrin.

"It's late. You have to go now," was the best she could muster.

George sighed theatrically, reluctantly admitting to the truth of her statement. He got up and began to dress. His still damp clothes felt excruciatingly cold on his skin. He gasped and swore as he pulled them on.

Annie hadn't moved from her place on the bed. He took one last look at her, committing to memory the vision of her naked body laid out on her bed before him. Then he bent to kiss her and whispered into her ear, "I'll come back tonight. And every night hereafter, if you'll let me."

"Maybe I'll be here, maybe I won't," she teased petulantly.

"Then I'll have to mount my trusty steed and come find you, won't I?"

They laughed quietly together.

Annie rolled onto her side to face him. "Have a good day, then," she added by way of goodbye, burrowing back under her quilt.

"It can only go downhill from here," he said, shaking his head as he kissed her one last time. Then he stood up straight and started to spin on the spot. He disappeared with a familiar quiet pop.

*

George prayed he'd be home before his brother woke up, allowing him to sneak unnoticed back into his own bed. Even better, maybe Fred had spent the night elsewhere as well, and their flat would be empty. The waitress last night had certainly seemed receptive before he and Annie had left Fred, per his request, at the pub.

Their flat was still dark and quiet as he rematerialized in the front room. Perhaps he was in luck....

"Welcome home, brother."

Shit. He could hear the malicious anticipation of a disembowelment in Fred's voice. "Fred, what an unpleasant surprise. Didn't expect to find you here. Wallowing in rejection, are you?" he needled him. Perhaps the best defense would be a good offense?

"Rejection?" Fred chuckled. "Not exactly. In fact, quite the opposite. I was so eager to come home to you, my dear brother, and share my tale of conquest that I left the lovely Bridget during the wee hours of the morning. I was planning to offer you the benefit of precious wisdom gained from experience, you see.... And what did I find waiting for me? Empty flat, empty bed, no brother...."

"And you were so disappointed to be lacking an audience for your exaggerated, if not completely false tale," George parried.

The light flicked on, causing him to blink at the brightness as his eyes adjusted. Fred was seated at the small table where they ate whenever they weren't mooching back at the Burrow. A smirk was smeared across his brother's face.

"Yes, I admit I was disappointed at first. But as I sit here looking at you now, staggering home at dawn, I see that you must have quite a tale of your own to share. My, my, look at the state of you. Those clothes have been lying in a heap all night long somewhere, I'll wager. Perhaps a floor? In Ottery?"

"Or slept in." George turned away from his brother's salacious gaze and poured himself a glass of water from the tap, affecting nonchalance. Perhaps Fred's penchant for always believing himself first and best at everything might come in handy now, and he'd be willing to believe the lie.

"Hmm. Now that would be a disappointment. Surely you can come up with something better than that," Fred taunted him.

"Only little girls kiss and tell; let's choose to be grown-ups, shall we? I have no interest whatsoever in your story, and I mean that in the strictly fictional sense. Do me a favor and keep your lurid imagination to yourself," he replied. Not only was he confident that Annie would be mortified to think he would share such a private thing about her with Fred, George bristled at the idea that his brother thought it was any of his goddamn business in the first place.

"Only guilty consciences fuel a blush like that, George. Oh-ho, we have been naughty, haven't we? Imagine that... we were born on the same day as well," Fred snickered.

George shook his head in false denial of his brother's assumption. "I'm embarrassed for you, you bloody immature prat. At least pretend to have a little dignity," he urged, leaning back against the counter.

"You're trying awfully hard to defend her reputation. How noble of you, George! I assure you, there's no need for further pretense," he chuckled. "Annie's a warm-blooded woman, after all, and entitled to her fun, just as we are."

"You really should shut up," he warned his interrogator. "A broken face won't help you much tonight at whatever pub you'll be trolling for your next imaginary escapade."

"Escalating it to threats of violence, now?" Fred laughed. "Come off it, George. God knows you put your time in pursuing her. You deserve a payoff. I believe the term is 'friends with benefits.'"

"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I'm taking a shower. Feel free to be gone by the time I'm done," George said, trying to make it sound like he didn't care so perhaps his brother would drop the whole thing before it really did come down to punches.

"We have plans today, remember? Checking out the old Zonko's in Hogsmeade. And afterward, we'll have a nice long chat..." Fred called out after him.

George shut the bathroom door behind him in hopes it would put an end to the conversation.

The trip to Hogsmeade was a complete bust. The streets were empty of students, thanks to the cancellation of further school visits due to all the recent troubles. What was the use of expansion into a dead market, as it currently stood?

They decided to hit the Three Broomsticks for a meal, then trek up to the castle. Maybe afterward they could see Ron and Ginny and drop off his birthday gift before they left town.

The brothers were seated at a table and George had just taken a bite when Fred started up again. "So... back to you and Annie."

"Fred, I really don't want to talk about this with you right now." Or ever, if I can help it....

"Humor me. Now that I've had some sleep, some food, I'm in a far better mood. Feeling much more brotherly."

"Not to mention chatty. How wonderful," George mumbled sarcastically around his mouthful of food.

"Are you sure she understands it's casual?" Fred asked in his most serious tone of voice. "Remember what I warned you about when this all began. I will not tolerate you ruining our friendship by breaking her heart."

"How does it feel to be so far off the mark, you can't even see it anymore?" George taunted his brother, shaking his head.

"Okay, I'll bite. What am I missing?"

George rolled his eyes at his brother's thick-headedness. "What part of the last ten months has led you to believe this is something casual for me or for Annie? When I'm not stuck at the shop or on a job somewhere with you, where do you think I spend my pittance of free time? On the rare occasion when we three go out to a pub together, which of us is looking for a new companion? Is your head really that far up your own arse that you can't see it?"

"So... what? Are you saying you're in love with her? That she's the one?" Fred asked incredulously, using sarcastically exaggerated finger quotes.

"How can that be so hard for you to believe?" George protested.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because we're eighteen years old? Or maybe because there's a world full of girls that you've never met?" Fred cried.

"Nearly nineteen," George countered. "And I don't need to meet anyone else. I've found what I want. Just lucky that way, I guess." He shrugged, indicating there was no point in arguing the matter further.

"Really, George? The girl next door? Your childhood playmate?" Fred said skeptically. "Don't get me wrong; I think Annie's a great girl. But I can't fathom how you can be so eager to throw your freedom away like that. We're just out of school. We're making good money. The world's our oyster, as they say. Why would you even be looking for 'the one' at this point?"

"You're not making any sense, as usual," George argued. "If I've happened to have found 'the one,' why would I keep looking? You don't want me to hurt Annie, yet you can't understand why I wouldn't want to cheat on her?"

"I never said anything about cheating, and you know it," Fred countered. "What I'm saying to you goes the same for Annie. Don't you think we're too young to be so serious? Whatever happened to sowing some wild oats? Experiencing what life has to offer?"

"There's no point in sowing oats just for the sowing's sake," George insisted. "If it doesn't have any chance of being something real, why would you bother? It's just a whole load of bullshit, otherwise."

Fred snorted. "Don't you sound like a good little girl! The point is: it's fun. It feels good. Nobody gets hurt."

"And you sound like a prick," George argued. "What you're describing is something empty and meaningless. And I guarantee you that somebody gets hurt in the long run."

"When did you get to be so middle-aged? Is your entire world view so tainted, or is it just limited to sex?" Fred asked.

George rolled his eyes again, looking away from the table, refusing to answer the question. He took a long drink from a bottle of butterbeer, finishing it.

"What about Annie? I hope she's being more sensible about this. Or is she just as ridiculously eager to limit her options as you are?" Fred asked.

George couldn't hide the smile that spread across his face as he thought back to this morning's discovery of her tattoo. "I'm pretty confident the attachment is mutual. Virtually permanent," he added with a snort.

"Permanent? That's a scary word. I'd be running for the hills, if I were you." Fred looked at him with amused alarm.

"That's the difference between us, bro. To me, 'permanent' sounds bang-on bloody perfect," he said as they both stood up to leave.

"Shall we head up to the castle, then?" Fred asked, ready to move on in more ways than one.

"Sounds good to me," George agreed as he grabbed Ron's birthday gift. He followed his brother out the door.

It was just after eleven before they finally made it back to their flat that night. They had stayed as long as Pomfrey would let them, hoping Ron might wake up, meanwhile re-hashing the details of his poisoning while they waited. Where had the tainted mead come from, and who was its intended victim? Everyone had their own theory, each one as seemingly implausible as the last. Hermione seemed to have the clearest ideas, but even those didn't lead to any likely suspects.

Clever Hermione. Prim, mousy little Hermione – her teary eyes never left Ron's face as he lay there unconscious.

George had never noticed her much before. He reckoned maybe his recent time spent with Annie had brought him more in tune with the previously inscrutable body language of girls. But poor Hermione had it bad for his little brother - that fact was glaringly evident to him now.

He wondered for how long this little stew had been simmering. He'd have to give Ron the business for it the next time he saw him up and about.

And Pomfrey had assured them Ron would be fine. It was the only reason they had been persuaded to leave. That and the fact that Harry had promised to write them with any news about Ron or the criminal responsible, whoever it turned out to be.

George yawned, standing in the warm light of the front room of their flat. "I told Annie I'd see her tonight. I'm going to check in, at least, so she won't worry. See you in a bit," he announced to his brother shortly after they had arrived in Diagon Alley.

"I'm so bloody knackered, I'm not even going to give you any shit for it tonight. Give her my best," Fred added with an answering yawn, staggering into their bedroom.

A few minutes later, George stepped onto the dark street in front of the Leaky Cauldron and turned on his phone. A few moments after that, it vibrated in his hands, announcing a message. He casually paced up the street as he listened to it.

"It's me. I'm awake, no matter how late. Come let me know you're okay.... Love you." Her voice was quiet and clearly concerned.

The time stamp said 10:45 p.m. – not so very long ago. He had promised to see her tonight, so it was reasonable she'd be worried that he hadn't shown up by fifteen minutes before her curfew. He decided a personal visit would be preferable to a phone call. Especially after last night, he thought, unable to suppress a smug smile.

He Apparated to one of his usual spots at the back corner of the garden, out of view from any windows of the house. Noting all the lights were off and the house was quiet, he crept around to Annie's ivy-wreathed window. He glanced around the ground for something to toss at the glass to let her know he was here, not wanting to trample the plantings below it.

"Looking for something, Romeo?"

He jumped and spun around to face the voice addressing him, uttering a choked swear.

"Sorry.... Are you all right?" Annie asked with a giggle.

"Just let me swallow my heart. You're a sneaky little bugger, aren't you?" he muttered, catching his breath.

"You're the one creeping around my garden, lurking under my window like a peeper," she teased.

"Right. I'll just be going, then," he teased back.

"Don't be so sensitive, Sally. Give us a kiss, at least, before you march off in a huff."

"Maybe just one little peck," he said with mock reluctance as he pulled her close. They kissed with some enthusiasm before the adrenaline subsided.

"Spill it, then. What on earth could have kept you away from me until nearly midnight tonight?" she asked in a snarky voice.

"Only the smallest of snags: my little brother was poisoned and nearly died at school today."

"Oh my God, George, you're not joking! Is he all right?" Annie cried, barely able to keep her voice quiet.

"Yes, he'll be fine. And for your genuine level of panic and remorse, I forgive you for being such a shit a moment ago."

"What happened? Tell me everything!" she demanded.

George began with their visit to Hogsmeade and the decision he and Fred had come to about their possible expansion, but left out the rest of his conversation with his brother at the pub. He then recounted for the seemingly hundredth time that night all the details that were known with any certainty, as well as most of the speculations.

"So, nobody knows for sure how or why or who did any of this?" she asked.

"Not yet..." he admitted.

Annie's eyes narrowed into a glare. "You've been lying to me for years now, haven't you? 'Hogwarts is so safe,' you said, over and over. Yet I've heard nothing but tales of possession by evil spirits, monsters on the loose, soul-sucking demons, raving escaped criminal psychopaths...."

"Sirius was an innocent man! I told you that!" he interrupted.

"Right. Turns out it was your brother's pet rat that was the actual psychopath, and he's scarpered off to join the Grand Master Psychopath," she spat back angrily. "Whatever. I've been a bloody fool for years to trust you at that school. The student body at Hogwarts certainly seems to be in mortal peril for most of any given term. Your family in particular, I might add, seems to be a magnet for it. I can assure you, George, that this sort of business does not happen in normal schools," she said with angry anxiousness.

"I suppose when you put it that way, I can see your point. At the time, though, it mostly just seemed dead boring," he argued playfully, trying to distract her with humor.

"That's because you're an idiot with a pathological need to be reckless," she snapped but threw her arms around his waist and held him tightly. "I can see now how lucky I am to have you here now. That's the only explanation for it: nothing but blind, dumb luck."

"I just love it when the hysterical mother hen in you takes over," he joked, oozing sarcasm himself. But the truth was her concern did touch him, and he lifted her head to face him. "May I come in?" he whispered, just before he kissed her.

"I wish I could say yes," she sighed softly. "But we'd better not risk it: Gran's sleeping fitfully tonight. She's gotten up once already."

"Oh," he said, his disappointment unmistakable in his voice. They continued to kiss for a while anyway.

It was getting late, or rather very early, and Annie took his face in her hands and held it apart from her own. "You have to go home," she urged reluctantly.

"This sucks," he sighed.

"You used to be content with a bit of snogging," she joked.

"How did you ever get that completely false impression?" he argued half-teasingly.

"Go!" she laughed.