Underground

Chapter 32: Underground

Fall 1997

Annie was taking advantage of a few dry hours early Saturday morning to do some gardening. The weather was supposed to turn wet by lunchtime, and the heavy grey clouds looked as though they might start raining at any moment. She had already cleaned out all the dead ivy from around her bedroom window and hoped she would be able to plant all the new tulip bulbs Gran had bought through the mail, as well as clear up what was likely the last bit of weeding before a frost would make it more difficult to do so.

As she dug and prepared a bed for the bulbs, a familiar little creature came toddling over to her, and she smiled at his approach. The thing looked like an oddly shaped potato with legs and arms. Annie had taught him to avoid Gran, but since she never came outside to the garden anymore, he knew it was safe for him to emerge from his underground den.

"Hello, Spud," she said softly, greeting the gnome George and Fred had given her for her tenth birthday, captured from their mother's garden.

"Sod off," he replied in a raspy but friendly voice, peering over her arm into the hole she was digging.

Spud had learned a full vocabulary of insulting words from the twins before he had come to live with her, and she had not been able to rid him of the habit, nor had she managed to teach him any more pleasant ones in the ensuing years. She figured perhaps it required magical talents to do so but conceded that since she thought the foul-mouthed little fellow was hilarious, it was certainly possible she had never really tried very hard to do so.

"Cold, wet weather's coming.... Are you all ready for it this year? Need any more insulation?" she asked, smiling. Annie always made sure he had plenty of scraps of fabric to line his den with before the first frost. She began to arrange the tulip bulbs in the holes.

"Bugger," he said, nodding as he plopped down onto the ground next to her. He eyed the bulbs longingly.

"All right, then... just one, mind," she warned him while she reached into the bag and pulled out a bulb to give him. "Gran won't be pleased if she doesn't see tulips next spring. She might get a cat!"

"Shite!" he squeaked nervously but wiggled his fingers with anticipation until the bulb was within his grasp. "Snotty snot," he said, bidding her adieu, and traipsed back to his burrow underneath the hawthorn.

Annie giggled and went back to work. After she finished planting the bulbs, she made her way around to the vegetable bed, yanking out the last few weeds from the soft, dark soil.

An odd noise made her pause. She froze for a moment, straining her ears to hear it.

There it was again: a soft whine followed by a scratching sound at the garden gate. Annie stood up and walked slowly to the gate, where she waited until she heard the sound a third time.

Why would a dog be trying to get into the garden? she wondered, certain she had identified the sound. Slowly, she opened the gate to peer outside.

A beautiful, reddish-brown speckled white dog with amber eyes sat on its haunches just outside the gate. Its long coat was slightly matted and dirty, and a few dead leaves clung to its belly. It looked up at her expectantly.

"Where on earth have you come from?" she wondered aloud.

The dog uttered a single bark, as if responding to her question.

"Oh, well, that clears it up," she said sarcastically.

The dog made a move as if to enter the garden, then sat back down. As if it was prompting her to invite him in.

"All right, then – come in if you like," she said, amused. She took a step backward to admit him.

The dog scampered inside the gate, then darted about the garden, nose down, as if on the trail of something. After half a minute, it honed in on the hawthorn, whining and digging at the soil underneath it.

"NO!" Annie commanded sharply, worried for her little friend. "Away from there!"

Immediately, the dog stopped what it was doing and trotted over to her, then sat down at her feet, looking up at her as if awaiting another command.

"Lie down," she said, testing it.

Instantly, the dog obeyed.

"Roll over?"

Like a show dog, it rolled over. She discovered the dog was male at this point.

"Speak."

He sat up and replied with a single bark.

"Shake hands?" she said, crouching down and offering her hand.

The dog placed his paw in hers. Gently, she reached out with her other hand so he could sniff her. He did so, then gave her hand a few friendly licks.

Clearly, this is an extremely well-trained dog, Annie reckoned, and she imagined its owner was likely frantic with worry. Other than a bit of road wear from his travels, he appeared healthy and otherwise well-cared-for.

She set his paw down and began to inspect his collar. The tag read "Michael" and bore a phone number. "Michael?" she asked him for confirmation.

He jumped up and spun around before sitting down again.

"Nice to meet you," she said, giggling. "You're a bit of a show-off, aren't you?"

With another answering bark, the dog lay down on the ground, head on his front paws, as if pouting.

"Only teasing," she said as she stood up and began fishing her phone out of her pocket. She kept it with her at all times now in order to catch any call George might make to her. "Don't get all bent," she said.

The dog scooted himself around until his hindquarters faced her, then looked back at her over his shoulder. He lifted an eyebrow and twitched his ears.

Great, she thought. Just what I need: yet another smart-arse in my life.

She dialed the phone number from the dog's tag only to hear a recorded message informing her that the number had been disconnected. "That's odd," she muttered, carefully dialing the number again as she read it directly from the tag, just to make sure. The same recording answered.

She gazed curiously at the dog, who sat up and cocked his head, returning the look right back at her. "I wonder what your story is?" she asked him.

Annie could've sworn she saw the dog shrug.

The air began to fill with mist. She considered for a moment what to do with the dog and decided it would be cruel to send him away with bad weather coming. "I hope you're housebroken," she said, waving for him to follow her into the house.

"What's this?" exclaimed Gran as the two of them tromped into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Gran, meet Michael. He's a vagabond and a performer, apparently. The number on the tag is disconnected," Annie said, relaying all the information she had gleaned so far. "Any idea if he belongs to anyone in town?"

"Not a clue." Gran harrumphed. "Michael, eh? Saint or archangel?" she asked him, patting his head.

The dog put his paw gently on Gran's knee and whined.

Annie giggled. "It's almost like he can understand us. I've never seen anything like it!"

"What's your story, little one?" Gran murmured, holding his chin.

Michael smiled at her with his tongue lolling out.

"I already asked him that, and he's not telling," Annie said. "I've got to run to the market today, anyway.... If you don't mind, I'll pick up some things for him as well," Annie said, obliquely asking her Gran if it was okay to keep the dog, at least for the time being.

Gran looked at Annie out of the corner of her eye. "Hmmpf. I suppose it's just coincidence you've wanted a dog all your life, and here's one I'm in no position to say no to," she said suspiciously.

"I could take him to the shelter, if you really object," Annie said, smiling in victory.

Gran snorted, dismissing the suggestion. "Make sure you get some sweet-smelling shampoo and promise you'll give him a bath as soon as you get back," she replied, wrinkling her nose at the dirty-wet-dog smell now filling the kitchen.

Michael did a little happy dance, wagging his tail and darting between the two women as they laughed at his antics.

Annie began to busy herself with making lunch while Michael rested his head on Gran's lap, accepting her petting. He politely lay down quietly at their feet while they ate, refraining from begging for table scraps even though Annie figured he had to be hungry.

After Annie cleared the dishes, she made her way to the back door. Michael leapt up to follow her.

"You want to come?" she asked.

Michael's answering yelp nearly sounded like a "Yep!" and he seemed to nod his head.

"All right, then. Let's go," she said, smiling.

Together they dashed outside through the rain to the truck. Michael hopped into the cab and sat down on the passenger side like he had done it every day of this life. Annie was surprised by how happy she felt to have the company.

"I hope you don't expect to be invited into the store," she warned him as she turned the key and the engine roared to life.

They drove through town to the market on the far side, and the dog watched the houses and buildings go by with interest, as if it was all new to him. Annie cracked the windows for him while she went inside and did her shopping for the week, adding a leash, bowl, bag of food, bottle of shampoo and brush for Michael to her cart.

"New puppy, dear?" the cashier asked.

"Sort of," Annie replied.

Michael barked and danced with animated happiness when she returned to the truck with his new supplies. He laid his head on her lap as they drove home.

Nearly half an hour later, when she was elbow deep in soapy water giving the dog a bath, her phone rang.

"George!" she cried, happy as always to hear from him, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. "You'll never guess my news! I have a dog!"

"What?" he laughed.

"A dog! A stray showed up at the garden gate this morning and invited himself in."

"A stray, you say?" he asked, sounding a bit less enthusiastic.

"He's amazing," she said, hoping to elicit more excitement from him. "The smartest dog I've ever met. It's almost like he can talk!"

"He can talk?!" asked George, now clearly alarmed.

"Well, no, obviously. Not actually. He's a dog," explained Annie, confused by George's reaction.

There was a pause, then George asked, "Is it all right if I come over for a bit?"

"What.... Now?" she asked, suddenly excited by the prospect of seeing him so soon. And in daylight hours, if the rainy gloom of the day could actually qualify as daylight. "Of course. You know you're welcome anytime," she said, smiling with anticipation even though his tone was anything but cheery.

"And your Gran?" he asked. It was code for asking if he could Apparate directly inside the house or if he had to visit via the garden.

"Napping," she said, pulling the stopper out of the tub and draining the water.

"See you in a minute, then," he said, and the call clicked off.

Annie turned on the shower to rinse the lather from Michael's coat. He stood up and placed his body as cooperatively as possible within the stream of warm water. She was still drying him off in the bathroom when she heard the quietest of pops from her bedroom across the hall.

Michael's head immediately jerked alert and he darted, still wet, out of her arms toward the sound. By the time she scrambled up from the bathroom floor and dashed after him, he had already introduced himself to George. He was standing on his hind legs, front paws propped on George's leg, sniffing him. George stood still as a statue, hands in his jacket pockets, looking down sternly at the dog.

"Michael, down," she commanded in a whisper.

The dog immediately obeyed, sitting at George's feet but looking up at him, panting.

"Isn't he amazing?" she asked him softly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he reminded her.

Annie sighed. Inspired by her other visitor of the day, she asked him the required question. "Tenth?"

"Hmm." He looked suspiciously at the dog. Instead of answering out loud, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Wind-up set of chattering teeth," he replied with a smile. "And you... the same," he added, leaning his ear down to her.

"Spud the Insulting Garden Gnome," she whispered back, then giggled and kissed George in greeting.

"George, this is Michael the Wonder Dog," she introduced them.

Michael cocked his head and raised one eyebrow.

George looked at the dog with a stony face, staring at him like a judge would examine a convicted felon. "When did he get here?" he finally asked.

"This morning. I was outside gardening...."

"Where did he come from?" George interrupted.

"Dunno. He was dirty and had a few leaves in his coat, so I presume the forest at some point," she explained.

George bent down, looking the dog directly in the eyes. Michael averted his gaze in submission, refusing to look directly back, but otherwise held his ground.

George examined the tag on his collar. "Did you call the number?"

"Disconnected."

George pursed his lips, not pleased with her answer.

"What's wrong?" Annie asked, thoroughly confused. Did he not like dogs for some reason?

George glanced distrustfully at the dog.

Annie wondered if he was worried about speaking in front of him. "Do you want him to leave the room?" she asked teasingly.

"He'd likely be able to hear anyway," George replied with all seriousness, shaking his head slightly, much to Annie's shock. After a short pause, he continued softly, "Do you remember a long time ago – that night in Dartmoor – when we talked about permanent kinds of magic?"

Annie nodded. "Like Dark magic," she answered, beginning to feel alarmed.

"I think... it's possible... this dog could be an Animagus," he whispered.

"A spy?" she cried softly.

Michael responded by lying down, putting his head on his paws, and whimpering.

"It happens. Remember Scabbers?" he asked.

Did Annie remember Scabbers? The long-lived pet rat that turned out to be the wizard Peter Pettigrew: mass murderer, traitor, and servant of You-Know-Who? "Oh my God, George! You really think?" she gasped.

George shrugged and stared hard at the dog. Michael responded by cocking his head again, then panting and letting his tongue hang out of his mouth.

"How do we find out for sure?" she asked.

George pursed his lips again. "I dunno. Maybe Dad knows."

"Should we walk him over to your place?" she asked.

George shook his head. "If he is what I think he might be, that would be a mistake," he said pointedly.

Annie nodded in understanding. It would be unwise in the extreme for Annie and George to bring another wizard in disguise to the Burrow, the current secret headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and possibly compromise the guarding spell. If, in fact, that was what Michael turned out to be.

"How about I meet you both at the old fort in about fifteen minutes?" he offered.

Annie nodded. "Okay."

"See you in a bit," he said, leaning in to give her a kiss goodbye. "Don't worry," he said, smiling slightly. "We'll figure it out, one way or another. Everything will be fine," he assured her. Then, with one last distrustful glance back at the dog, he Disapparated.

Annie sat on the floor next to Michael. He looked at her, put a paw on her leg, and nuzzled her ear with his wet, cold nose. "Are you a wizard?" she whispered as she scratched his ears.

Michael sneezed, shaking his head violently, as if responding negatively to her query.

"I hope not," she said. "Or at least, if you are one – be on our side, okay?"

The dog whimpered once, licked her cheek, then trotted to the back door and sat, awaiting her. Annie clipped the leash on his collar, left a brief note for her Gran on the table, and pulled on her raincoat.

Annie and Michael made their way slowly across the open field, neither of them in any hurry to get to the rendezvous point despite the rain. As they approached the fort, she could see George and his father waiting for them, eyes wary and wands drawn.

They're afraid of him! Annie realized, startled by what she now desperately hoped was an overreaction on their part. In the few short hours she had known him, she had already grown attached to the dog's friendly, comforting presence.

"George, what is going on?" she asked worriedly.

"Annie, drop the leash and come to me," he said quietly.

"Wait! What are you going to do to him?" she cried, stepping between Michael and the threatening men.

"We won't hurt him," Arthur assured her. "At least, not without provocation," he added, directing this last part of his response to the dog.

"Come here, Annie," George repeated. It was a gentle command, but a command all the same.

Reluctantly, she set the leash down. She crouched, meeting Michael's questioning gaze. "Sorry," she said as she patted his head. "Please just be a dog," she pleaded in a whisper, then stood up and commanded him to stay.

George took her hand as soon as she was close enough and pulled her behind him. Meanwhile his wand remained aimed at the dog.

"Reveal your true form!" commanded Arthur.

Michael cocked his head and wagged his tail but never moved from his seated position. The standoff lasted a whole minute.

Next, Arthur cast a silent spell at the dog with a flourish of his wand. The flash of light startled Annie and she uttered a small cry, starting toward the dog. George held her in place, behind him, with one arm. Michael was also startled; he flinched but still remained in the spot where Annie had commanded him to.

Thankfully, he remained a dog.

"Are you satisfied yet?" she asked impatiently. She didn't like how she felt inside right now, as if she was betraying a friend's trust for no apparent reason.

"Dad?" asked George.

"Seems to be a dog to me," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But you were right to come to me with this. We can't afford not to be on our guard right now."

Annie released Michael from the stay command by patting her thighs. He bounded over to her, jumping up on her and smiling as if very pleased with his own performance. Annie giggled and rubbed his ears roughly, then pushed him gently back to the ground.

"Thanks, Dad," George offered as his father said goodbye to them and Disapparated, leaving the two of them alone in the woods.

Michael dashed to the spot where Arthur had been a moment ago, excitedly looking around and sniffing.

"Are you mad at me?" George asked Annie with a half-smile.

"No. Not really. I hate that we're turning into this, though. So suspicious of every little thing," she answered honestly.

George nodded in understanding and agreement. "A life of paranoia and covert operations isn't quite what it's cracked up to be in the spy movies, is it?"

Annie snorted. "Not quite. But it's worth it, I suppose. The alternative is completely unacceptable, at any rate," she said as they embraced.

Michael shook the rain from his coat and barked in annoyance as they began to kiss.

George chuckled. "I guess he has some hard feelings," he teased.

"Come over tonight and make it up to him," Annie coaxed.

"Make it up to him... or to you?" George smiled at her.

"Both," she said, kissing him again. "Okay... mostly me."

*

The situation was getting out of control, and she was definitely going to have to do something about it. Tonight was as good a time as any, she figured. Time to put a stop to this obnoxious harassing behavior before George found out about it.

Her worst fear was that the idiot would call when George was with her. Granted, this was unlikely, considering the hours she and George were currently keeping, but who knew? Neither good manners nor common sense were Stephen's strong points. She did not want to incite some sort of chest-thumping male ego contest or give George any motivation to do something reckless, putting himself at risk. Or, even worse: give him the slightest reason to doubt her feelings for him.

She listened to Stephen's most recent voicemail message, feeling her blood pressure rise as she did.

"Come out with me tonight. I'll be at the old school hall, boxing some cop for charity's sake. You know you'd love a chance to see me get my arse kicked, unlikely as that may be...."

She pushed the button that would delete the message, erasing Stephen's voice from her phone. There was no purpose in listening further. Nothing he could possibly say would change her mind about him. He was a self-absorbed, manipulative jerk, and she never wanted to see him again if she could help it.

But something had to be done. Simply refusing to accept any more of his calls wasn't making the message plain enough, apparently. And it was infuriating, that tone of smugness he had. Her reaction to it so completely the opposite of how she felt when George good-naturedly baited her. It was a tempting offer: to be there as witness to Stephen getting his just desserts at the hands of some cop.

Any reason to escape this house is a welcome thing, she had to admit to herself, even one as lame, as dubious as this. She and George had been good as gold so far this autumn. Not once had they gone out together where they could be seen or, more importantly, recognized by whomever might be watching.

How could they? Just like tonight, George spent the majority of every evening out on a mission for the Order. He was her very own personal hero, bravely defending the world of unsuspecting Muggles and cowering wizards from an evil menace. The thought made her smile and cringe at the same time.

George's subversive evening activities left them primarily the hours between midnight and dawn to be together. Whenever possible, usually several times a week, he would pop directly into her bedroom from wherever he had been that night. They would lie in her bed then, talking, dozing, kissing – which sometimes led to more – but they were careful not to risk that too often.

And nearly always in the dark, it seemed, for fear of watching eyes. She had almost forgotten what he looked like in daylight. There was so much sneaking around now, hiding the true nature of their relationship from his parents, her Gran, the possibility of enemy spies. Far from being sexy or exciting, it was demoralizing and beginning to drive her mad.

Stop it! she scolded herself. What's the alternative? Give him up? Risk his safety? Time to grow up, already, and stop complaining! The love of her life spent every possible minute he could with her; wasn't that enough?

Back to the issue at hand: Stephen and his annoying, ego-fueled phone calls had to be stopped once and for all. Annie brusquely donned her trainers and coat. Michael was dozing on her bed and barely acknowledged her exit with a twitch of his ear. She said goodbye to Gran and Mrs. Finnerty on her way out of the kitchen, promising to return within an hour or so, and drove off toward the school.

She was further incensed to see Stephen was waiting outside the entrance, scanning the crowd, searching for her. That's the final straw, she thought angrily, her blood beginning to boil. How thick could he possibly be?

She had been rude to the point of cruelty, she reckoned, over the past several weeks while he had repeatedly called to 'apologize' for what had happened at Geoff's wake more than a year ago. How could that have been too subtle? Perhaps a large piece of timber forcefully applied to his temple is required to deliver the message?

She marched up to him with a scowl on her face. At least he had the decency to replace his initial inane grin when he first saw her with something more appropriately chagrined upon seeing her black expression.

"We need to talk," she said sternly.

"Right," he answered dejectedly, his shoulders sagging.

What possible hope could he still be nursing? she wondered in amazement. After everything that has gone wrong between us?

They took a few steps away from the queues of people making their way inside. Annie stopped before they went too far out of sight, though, unwilling to be completely alone with him for any reason. He turned around to face her but didn't speak, like he wasn't looking forward to saying what was on his mind.

Annie decided to unload her own thoughts instead. "Stop calling me, Stephen. I'm not interested. I love George, and he loves me. End of story."

"He keeps you under lock and key now, doesn't he? You never come out anymore to the pub," he retorted.

She suspected he was trying to get under her skin. And the look on his face was a familiar one to her: he had not been paying any attention at all to what she was saying. His mind was entirely focused on his own agenda.

She brought the hammer down on what she hoped was the final nail. "We're engaged."

Stephen's eyes narrowed. "I don't see a ring."

Annie huffed in frustration, folding her arms in front of her chest, self-consciously hiding her hands. She and George had had a similar discussion once the dust had settled a bit after Bill's wedding. George had asked her if she'd wanted a diamond engagement ring, which was a Muggle rather than wizarding tradition. She'd been against it, arguing they didn't need anything that would draw attention to their relationship for the time being. George had reluctantly agreed with her.

"I'm not exactly a jewelry sort of person, Stephen. Doesn't change anything. We're going to be married."

Stephen ran his fingers through his bushy red hair, looking anywhere but at her. "Look, that's not really what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, then sighed.

I'll bet not, she thought uncharitably. "Fine. Get it off your chest. I will listen, then I will leave, and we will not see each other again. You will not call me anymore, understand?" she snapped.

"Jesus Christ, yes! Your bitchy attitude isn't making this very easy, okay?" he whined.

Perhaps I will be the one to kick his arse tonight, she fumed. Her palms itched to smack his face. She clenched her jaw and glared at him with thinly veiled fury.

"And stop staring at me with your witchy death-ray eyes," he barked.

Oh, Stephen. If you only knew.... She looked instead at a brick in the wall behind and above his head.

"Look, I get it: you're pissed. And you're not interested in me. Frankly, sweetheart, I figured that out a while ago," he snapped.

"Then why am I here?" she spat through clenched teeth. He knew the "sweetheart" thing would have to be driving her berserk.

"So I can apologize, for chrissake! Yes, believe it or not, I realize I've been a right arse to you, among others, over the years. Not a very good friend, at any rate. Losing my chance with you, and then Geoff getting killed, has made me realize some things about myself. I'm a dick, and I'm sorry, all right?"

"Oh," she mumbled. She was truly shocked by his admission of guilt. She'd never imagined Stephen was capable of introspection on such a level.

"It's not like you were nothing but a saintly victim in this situation, either. If you hated us so much, why did you keep coming 'round? You were using us as well – using me, weren't you?" he asked accusatorially.

"Probably," she admitted, nodding reluctantly.

Despite the fact nearly every bone in her body rebelled to say it, she knew Stephen was right. She had been desperate at the time for something to take her mind off of missing her twin friends, for something to occupy her time while they were gone. Yes, Stephen and his gang of hooligans were a flimsy substitution for Fred and George's friendship, but she had disloyally abandoned her Muggle companions without explanation the instant her magical ones reappeared each summer. And despite her assumptions to the contrary, Stephen had noticed he'd never rated first in her life. Realizing such rejection might have hurt his feelings, she felt a momentary pang of regret.

Stephen let a few moments pass in silence then asked her a question. "You kissed me once, remember? Why?"

"I don't know," she replied flatly.

Actually, not being such a stranger to introspection, she knew that wasn't true. Perhaps she owed Stephen an explanation, if not an apology of her own. But what could she tell him that wasn't far too dangerous to reveal? "It's complicated," she added with a sigh.

Oops. Wrong answer. She had to stamp out that tiny spark of hope that just lit into his eyes.

"Not for the reason you're thinking, sorry. Stephen, we were fifteen, bored, and curious. That's all it was. The bottom line is: kissing you helped me realize what I really wanted, and it wasn't you. Again, I'm sorry for that, if I led you on." She carefully avoided any thought of the horrific fallout afterward, how the last vestige of her reputation in Ottery had been ruined by the rumors he'd allowed to fester, not wanting to incite herself to murder at the moment.

"And you've got that now? What you wanted?" he demanded.

"Everything and more. No question about it," she replied without hesitation.

Stephen paused and smiled ruefully. "Funny. That kiss showed me everything I ever wanted, as well."

Annie shrugged. She didn't believe it for one second. It was just another manipulative thing to say, another attempt to make her feel wretched. There was nothing she could say in response that wouldn't either give him false hope or be overly cruel, so she stood in silence.

"For what it's worth, I wish you all the best," he added, reaching out to give her a parting hug.

"Thanks. You, too," she offered, taking a few steps backward to avoid the embrace. She wouldn't be making that mistake again. Annie turned and walked back to her truck without a backward glance.