Battle Scar

Chapter 28: Battle Scar

July 1997

Annie spun around once more and watched how the skirt draped. "Are you sure?" she asked her friend.

"The color is so dramatic and just lovely with your eyes!" Jane nodded enthusiastically.

Annie had to agree. The soft plum silk did accentuate all her best features. The halter bodice was simple yet elegant, highlighting her trim waist and curves to best advantage. The skirt flared slightly at her hips to flutter at her knees, hiding what Annie considered thighs too large to look proportional with the rest of her body. While her thighs would be adequately hidden by the skirt, her defined calves would be nicely displayed with the right heels. It would also be cool enough to wear outdoors in August, she thought practically.

"George is going to love it," Jane added teasingly.

Annie gave her friend a stern look to scold her for such an anti-feministic sentiment, which quickly melted into a broad smile. There was no use pretending that pleasing him wasn't the primary goal of this particular shopping foray. George had invited her to be his date for his brother's upcoming wedding, a gesture which Jane assured her was the mark of a serious romantic attachment. Annie reckoned she couldn't argue the point – that she already understood the depth of their commitment for many other reasons – without incriminating herself, so she'd merely nodded.

"Well, I am running out of time. The wedding is just a week away at this point. All right, I'll take it."

"I saw some silver sandals at the shoe store a few doors down that would look gorgeous with this," Jane suggested.

"And then I'm treating you to lunch! All this flattery deserves a reward!" Annie smiled.

Annie was thrilled to have her friend along today. She felt entirely out of her element, shopping for formal wear. Annie valued Jane's opinions because she was honest; when something wasn't flattering, she said so. Annie felt she wouldn't have had the fortitude to do it alone, which probably explained why she had waited until the last minute to find something to wear. Jane had patiently sat as Annie tried on twenty dresses at least, sharing her critical designer's eye. Once again, Jane had rescued her.

Spending the day with Jane had reminded Annie of what she regarded as the best part of her teenage Ottery experience. Through so much of Annie's high school years, Jane had stepped into the roles of best friend and elder sister, teaching Annie what it meant to be a modern young woman. While Gran had instilled in Annie her old-fashioned core values, who she was as a person and the skills of self-sufficiency, Jane had taught Annie how to express herself within the current culture. She had instructed her in how to dress fashionably, introduced her to popular music, even took her to get her ears pierced – the only instance of Gran disapproving of anything Jane ever did.

After Annie paid for the dress, she and Jane walked down the street, chatting amiably.

"So, Annie.... You and George? How are things going?"

Annie giggled. She found it funny that this exact question had been asked of her so often over the past year. Nearly everyone she knew: Jane, Gran, even Fred occasionally would ask her the very same thing. Annie didn't mind a bit. She still regarded the fact she and George had a relationship to be talked about as something of a sweepstakes prize.

"Brilliant, thanks," Annie replied.

And it was true as far as the two of them were concerned, she reckoned. Or even in the opinion of their immediate families. In the eyes of the wizarding world at large, however....

"Kudos on your completely uninformative answer," Jane retorted sarcastically. "Of course things are going well – you never stop smiling, and he's taking you to a family wedding. What I want to know is just how serious are you two? I mean, he's taking you to a family wedding, for crying out loud. This sounds rather... I don't know... serious."

"You might want to brush up on your vocabulary, Jane," Annie teased her.

"And you should cease employing asinine excuses in a vain attempt to evade my question, Annie," Jane retorted.

"Right," she giggled. "How serious are we?"

Annie paused, contemplating how best to answer the question. She wanted to be at least somewhat honest with Jane – after all, her friend only had her best interests at heart. On the other hand, there was no way Annie was going to be completely honest, either. Some things were absolutely no one else's business; other things were not her secrets to share.

"I'm waiting..." Jane goaded her.

"I guess you could say... very serious," Annie offered vaguely, finding it ironic to use the word serious in reference to George – or herself, for that matter.

Jane raised an eyebrow. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Nine-point-five?" Annie replied, unable to repress an enormous grin.

"Yikes!" Jane cried. "Horrid girl! You're exaggerating to give me a heart attack," she accused her, one hand clutching her chest.

This time Annie raised an eyebrow. "Is it really so hard to believe? You've met him.... You even said we were perfectly matched!"

"Well, yes... I grant you George is a great guy, and you make a good couple. Don't get me wrong, Annie – I'm very happy for you both...."

"I sense a 'but' is coming next," Annie offered.

"You have an excellent 'but' sense," Jane teased her, and Annie giggled. "Annie, you and George are both so... young," she continued, her voice now full of grave concern. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but... isn't George the only guy you've ever dated? How can you be so serious when – forgive me for saying this – you have no idea what else is out there?"

"There is no one else in Ottery worth dating, Jane," Annie argued. "You well know what a crop of losers and arseholes there are in that town."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Which is precisely my point," she said. "You should get out of there! Expand your horizons! Go to university!" Jane had been arguing this same issue with Annie for years now, encouraging her to continue her education nearly as strenuously as her Gran had done.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Annie protested. "I can't leave Gran – she needs me more than ever now."

"I grant you that," Jane conceded. "So maybe you should just... I don't know... cool your heels a bit. Take your time. Don't rush into anything. Especially anything permanent."

Annie gave Jane a patient smile. Her heart had been permanently given away years ago. There was a permanent reminder of it dyed into her flesh. The way she felt about George would never change, and he had made of point of telling her the same thing. They were not rushing into anything that she could see.

"I'm not stupid," Annie assured her, carefully avoiding making any promises she couldn't keep.

"Exactly," Jane said. "Just remember that."

Annie sighed. "Look, I appreciate your concern, I really do. And in most cases, I would agree with your argument. But this is... different. What George and I have is special."

Jane smiled gently. "Every infatuated teenager thinks the same thing, Annie."

"Maybe you're right. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. We're meant for each other, Jane. It would be a waste of time to date anyone else, not to mention unfair to any other guy, who wouldn't stand a chance of measuring up."

"Oh, dear. You are going to hitch yourself to one of the local idiots, aren't you?" Jane said teasingly.

Annie laughed out loud. "He hasn't proposed, if that's what you're asking!"

Jane looked at her dubiously. "Hmm," was all she said.

*

Two days later, Annie found herself at the Burrow. George had waited until the night before to tell her about the mission to move Harry Potter safely out of the Dursley's house. She was furious that he had waited so late to tell her, but proud as well of his brave loyalty to his friend. She didn't really understand why exactly this boy was so vitally important – he just seemed ridiculously lucky, to her mind – but trusted the Weasleys' judgment. If they said he was worth the risk, then he surely must be.

And she could tell George was thrilled to be involved. It was his first 'real' mission since joining the secret wizard's group nearly a year ago. He and Fred were nearly twitching with excitement, smiling and joking with each other as the kitchen steadily filled with people.

The Burrow was soon buzzing with activity. There were many extra people – Annie assumed they were all magical – in the house that morning, anxiously reviewing each detail of the complicated plan over and over until Fred and George couldn't resist giving smart-arse answers by the end. Annie giggled quietly at them from her corner of the kitchen, then pretended to be fascinated by her teacup when a few wizards looked questioningly at her.

Throughout the meeting, in fact, she'd noticed several of the wizards casting nervous looks her way. Fred had also caught one of the looks – whereupon he'd whispered to the person sitting next to him, who'd then passed the message around the table. After that, no one had given her a second glance. She assumed whatever the wizards were worried about, it didn't involve any threat a Muggle could possibly pose.

It occurred to Annie as she eavesdropped that the group certainly seemed to be prepared for some disastrous consequences, the thought of which began to worry her once more. George and Fred had, of course, assured her earlier that nothing at all could go wrong; the whole thing was safe as kittens and only the stupidest mother hen would feel anxious. That had been Annie's first clue that the mission would be dangerous.

She decided to redirect her anxiety toward preparing the food. Molly was expecting a large contingent for dinner, so there were mounds of vegetables waiting to be washed, peeled, and chopped. Of course, Annie couldn't do much of the actual cooking, since the stove seemed to require a wand to operate, but she was an excellent sous chef, taught at her Gran's knee for a decade at least.

In the months since she had first met Molly, Annie had visited several more times and become familiar with the kitchen. Molly seemed genuinely thrilled to have a willing and able volunteer helping out for once. They would often chat amiably about nothing terribly important as they worked together. Molly would ask her sometimes about her Muggle life in the village, and Annie had learned a great deal about the magical world from George's mother. And she was immensely grateful to have been invited to spend the day with her today, of all days.

Finally, the rescue mission participants all left. George had given her a quick peck on the cheek and a reassuring wink: a goodbye that Annie felt was appropriate considering the company present, yet distinctly unsatisfying, nonetheless. The urge to cling to him was strong, but she bravely smiled and wished him well instead.

Molly, George's sister, Ginny – whom she had just met that day – and Annie sat together in silence, unable to speak much while they waited nervously for everyone to return. As awkward as it was to sit with his family and wait, it was far better than waiting at home with Gran, who could know nothing about what was happening. At least Annie's companions here could appreciate the anxiety she felt, and she didn't have to try to hide it.

Ginny and Molly couldn't help staring out the back window, searching for a sign that someone was arriving, so they soon gave up any pretense of conversation. Time dragged by as Annie picked at loose threads on the hems of her sleeves and tapped her fingers on the table.

An hour later, Annie could tell by their worried looks that things had begun to go wrong: people should have been arriving back by now. Annie's legs bounced nervously on the tips of her toes beneath the table, and the cuffs of her shirt had come completely unraveled.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ginny screamed and the two of them bolted out the door. Annie ran to the window, and what she saw there made her heart sink: it was Harry Potter and the enormous Hagrid. Not Ron, not Fred, not Arthur. And definitely not George.

A few more minutes passed while Molly and Ginny fussed over Harry and Hagrid outside. Annie couldn't focus on listening to what they were saying from where she stood inside; she was too distracted with her own worry. She continued staring out the kitchen window, searching the sky, waiting for a sign.

Molly bustled in, grabbed a bottle of liquor from the cabinet, and turned to exit the kitchen again. "George and Remus are due next, dear. Any minute now..." she said as she passed by, and then walked out the door.

"Mum!" Annie heard Ginny cry a minute later. A blue light flashed and two figures appeared, then collapsed to the ground. She could tell by the way the rest of them dove toward the new arrivals that something was terribly wrong.

Annie was momentarily paralyzed as they walked through the kitchen door, carrying what she now recognized was George's bloody and inert body into the living room. Her ears had stopped working: she could see their lips moving but could no longer hear what they were saying. Why are they moving so slowly? she wondered.

Suddenly, her mind snapped back into reality as they carried him out of the kitchen and passed through the doorway into the living room. She grabbed an armful of towels from a drawer in the kitchen and dashed into the living room behind them. She had to elbow her way through the door, past a couple of arguing wizards, in order to get to his side.

Molly snatched one of the towels from her arms and began to staunch the wound. As the first towel filled with blood, Annie handed Molly a new one.

Annie couldn't take her eyes off of George's completely expressionless face, streaked as it was with blood and eyes closed. She took his hand. It was cold and moist and offered no response to her touch. There was a large lump in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Annie was reasonably sure it was her heart attempting to escape and swallowed forcefully.

She heard Molly whispering his name, over and over again. "George? George? Wake up dear.... George?"

"Think he's passed out... from the blood?" someone asked.

"Most likely," another voice replied.

After a few more minutes, it was becoming clearer to Annie that George was not dead. She could see his chest rise and fall, breathing normally. There was only a single wound that they could find, and no internal damage appeared likely.

Annie tried to reassure herself in her thoughts. Just a silly ear... that was all. Head wounds always bled heavily; that didn't necessarily mean it was serious. If only he would just wake up and tell them so....

She heard more scuffling sounds behind her. She assumed correctly that more people were arriving but didn't bother investigating. They weren't as important, after all.

Someone came into the room and asked Molly a question. Annie didn't catch it; her focus was centered on George's still unconscious face.

Molly answered, mentioning something about Dark magic, and then uttered the words Annie would cling to for the rest of the evening: "He's alive."*

George's wound finally started to clot, and the blood loss had, for the most part, been stopped. Annie was now holding three blood-soaked towels in her hands. Molly was currently pressing the fourth against his head. She rose slowly to carry them into the kitchen.

As she stood at the sink, she heard another disturbance. She recognized Arthur's familiar voice yelling at someone. Thank God, she thought, that he and Fred were safe now.

But she did not turn to greet them – she was mesmerized by the violently red towels she held in her now trembling hands. She turned on the tap and let the water run on them, watching while George's blood made trails down the white porcelain of the sink to the drain.

It hit her then like a tidal wave, inundating her: this was real. No longer hypothetical. Not just stories about someone else's fight, far removed from her own world. Not just something that might happen in the future if things didn't change.

George's blood was on her hands.

This was a war. Fought with curses that were just as deadly as any killing machine Muggles had ever invented. Fought by real people. People she knew. People she loved and couldn't live without.

Another inch to the left, and....

Someone else walked through the kitchen, whispering. Annie thought she recognized Ginny's voice but wasn't sure, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the bloody mess in the sink to confirm her suspicion.

Minutes, or maybe hours later, Annie felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. "Never mind those, dear. He's awake now. Go in and see him."

Annie left the towels in the sink and followed Molly back to the living room. She saw that George was still lying on the sofa, surrounded by people she vaguely recognized but did not consciously acknowledge. From somewhere within her she summoned the energy to walk to his side, then her knees gave out.

Luckily, George seemed to think she was just kneeling energetically, and he simply smiled at her. "Told you I'd make it back," he said softly.

"No, you promised you'd make it back in one piece," she answered, struggling not to break into sobs.

"Well, at least the larger of the two pieces made it back, then," he replied.

Even now he's trying to cheer me, she thought with rueful amazement. Bloody idiot. Literally. She half-giggled, half-sobbed at the realization.

"Is it really gruesome?" he asked in a slightly more serious tone as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Annie was encouraged by the fact that his hand now felt warm and dry. She felt a cool wetness left behind on her cheek and realized she must have been crying despite her struggle not to. "I can hardly bear to look at it," she said truthfully, but with a forced smile so he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"At least it wasn't anything vital. Didn't damage my rakishly handsome face, right?" he joked, attempting a wink but grimacing with pain instead.

Annie snorted. "Good point. You certainly never used your ear listening to anything sensible."

"There's the hag I fell in love with," he chuckled.

Annie stayed by George's side, holding his scarred hand and stroking his hair until he fell asleep. Other people came and went from the room – she heard discussions start and stop – but paid attention to none of it. There was only one thing that mattered, and he was right in front of her.

Molly then gave her a firm hug, assuring her that George was fine now, urging her to go home and get some sleep herself.

Annie nodded and rose to leave. It was late, or actually very early, and she was, in fact, quite tired. She would've liked to stay with George, perhaps until he woke the next morning, but realized it was futile to try. Gran could never be told the truth of the situation, and no excuse could cover being gone all night long. Not to mention the fact that George's mother had not invited her to stay.

"Help her home, Fred," Molly directed.

Annie and Fred walked slowly to her truck, his arm gently draped around her shoulders for support. She was grateful for his company, his strong, reassuring presence, and leaned into him.

"Gimme the keys," he commanded as they finally reached the rusty, beat-up heap. It looked perfectly at home, parked as it was next to the Burrow.

"Can't I ever drive my own damn vehicle?" she asked, exasperated.

"I've had a rough night, in case you hadn't noticed," he argued impatiently, "and I don't feel like folding into a pretzel just so you can indulge yourself. Accio keys!"

Annie tried to grab them in midair as the keys flew out of her pocket into his hands. "Jeez, a little patience would be nice..." she scolded him as she made her way around to the passenger side.

"You're a fine one to lecture me about patience," he retorted as he climbed into the driver's side door.

"What about the secrecy laws, then? Awfully blatant magic, that was. My Muggle sensibilities are very upset right now," she teased him.

"Again, not much room for you to talk," he said with a smile, turning over the engine. "What is it they say about people in glass houses? If I go down, rest assured Lover Boy goes down with me."

They drove in silence the short distance to Annie's home. Only after he turned off the engine, and they stood at the garden gate, did he speak once more.

"I get it now. What George meant."

"I'm glad someone does.... Care to enlighten me?" Annie said, confused but too tired to push the issue much. She leaned her aching forehead against the cool glass of the window, relishing the modicum of relief it offered.

"You two really are in love."

"Well spotted, Sherlock," she teased, lifting her head to look at him. Where is this coming from? she wondered. And why now?

Fred was undeterred. "When I saw your face tonight, looking at him... it finally clicked. You love him as much as he loves you, apparently," he mused, as if a mystery had finally been explained. He was quiet for a while after that.

"Does it bother you?" she asked, unsure what his silence meant.

"No," he answered without hesitation, and she knew from the tone of his voice he was telling the truth. "At least, not in the sense of you and George as a couple. You lot do have piss-poor timing, which is business as usual for George, unfortunately. Though I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," he teased wickedly.

"Don't start that shit with me tonight, Fred. I'm in no mood," she warned as she felt a raging blush begin to flood up her neck and spill onto her cheeks. She heard him huff petulantly, and Annie was thankful it was too dark for him to see her clearly, sparing her any further teasing. She hated that she was so transparent and that Fred refused to just drop it already.

"Still and all, as long as you know what you're getting yourselves into, I suppose you have my blessing," he offered.

"Well, thanks for that," she said in a sarcastic voice. And then more seriously added, "That does mean a lot... to me, anyway."

Fred gave her forehead a quick, brotherly kiss, tousled her hair, then gently shoved her toward her house. "Sleep tight, git," he said softly, then disappeared into the dark.

*Quote from "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" by J.K. Rowling