Ambush

Chapter 36: Ambush

January 1998

Fred and George had just finished hiding and marking the last cache for the night. They were walking quickly through the frozen woods toward a small clearing about twenty feet away.

"What's the rush?" teased Fred.

George smirked in Fred's direction – a totally unseen and therefore useless gesture on this thickly overcast, moonless night.

His twin somehow perceived his nonverbal response anyway. "Seriously, you've been touchy all night. What's wrong? You two have a fight or something?" his brother persisted.

"Not a fight. I dunno. Something's not right. Gut feeling, I suppose. Probably nothing, but I want to get back as soon as...."

George's answer was cut off by a quiet buzzing sound emanating from his pocket. He had left his phone on that night in an attempt to relieve a strange sense of nervousness about leaving Annie home alone. He snatched the phone out of his pocket and quickly flipped it open.

It was a numeric message from Annie: 999home.

His heart stopped. It was the signal they had agreed upon just in case. "Annie's in trouble!" he whispered frantically.

"Where?"

"Her place! Go!"

Both of them disappeared into thin air with a soft, simultaneous pop. Four seconds later, George and Fred reappeared in the field about fifteen yards behind Annie's house. It took another second for George to recover his bearings and begin running in the right direction.

A gunshot reported from the house, the sound reverberating across the field and bouncing off the trees. It startled him, causing him to stumble momentarily.

"ANNIE!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He sprinted toward the house faster than he'd ever run before. OhGodohGodohGodohGod, he kept repeating in his mind – or maybe it was out loud, he couldn't be sure. Why had he agreed to go along tonight? He should have stayed home when Jane had backed out of coming over. He never should have left Annie alone!

He drew his wand as he approached the house. Obeying silent commands, the gate, then the back door of the house burst open with loud bangs. A small part of his brain noted the sound of his brother's footsteps continuing to run toward the front of the house. Brilliant, he thought. Whoever is in here won't be leaving alive....

He halted as soon as he reached the kitchen and paused for one second to allow his eyes to adjust to the even deeper darkness inside. Another tiny part of his brain registered surprise that he was not much out of breath. His heart, however, felt on the verge of exploding. The house was profoundly silent.

"Annie?" he called, his voice breaking from emotion.

"George?" Her ragged voice answered from her bedroom.

A wave of relief crashed into another wave of fury at the sound of her frightened voice. He dashed through the kitchen doorway to her room. His eyes had perfectly adjusted to the darkness now, and he saw her standing just behind the other door – the one that led to the hallway. He quickly scanned the room and saw nothing else out of order.

"It's me, Annie," he called softly. "Are you hurt?" As he spoke, he walked slowly into the room and noted the gun held perfectly still in her hand. A gushing fountain of relief now welled up inside him; Annie had been the one to fire the shot.

"George," she repeated.

He could hear relief in her voice as well. He continued quickly across the room to Annie, never taking his eyes off of her face. It was strangely expressionless, an observation which worried him.

"Give me the gun, love," he said, his voice just above a whisper now that he was at her side. He gently took it from her hand, which was now starting to tremble slightly. He tossed it gently onto the bed and took both of her shoulders in his hands as he stared intently into her eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She closed her mouth, then shook her head slightly. Her eyes never blinked, never left his face.

In the next moment, they both heard a sound from the front room. He felt Annie's body flinch at the noise. "Fred?" George called out, aiming his wand at the doorway.

"It's me," he responded.

Without taking his eyes from Annie's face, George could see moving shadows on the wall through the door behind her, cast by Fred's lit wand searching the room and hallway as he slowly made his way back to Annie's room. George gingerly pulled Annie into his arms. It disturbed him that he felt no response from her, no resistance whatsoever. Could she be under a spell?

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Fred, his voice just louder than a whisper. He stood in the doorway to Annie's room now, on the other side of the door behind which George and Annie stood.

George looked away from Annie for the first time since he entered the room. He noticed on the floor lay a man's body. A dark mess was forming and spreading on the floor. How had he missed that before now? How had he not bloody tripped on the damn thing to get to her?

"Get it out of here," he commanded Fred. "Take it into the woods where no one will find it. I'll take care of the floor in here."

"Right," was Fred's only answer.

The body lifted a few inches off the floor and began to float back out the door. As soon as the body of her attacker was out of the room, George eased Annie over to her bed and sat her down on the edge. On his knees before her, he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

"I'm here. It's over. You're safe now," he murmured as he kept his lips pressed there.

Annie nodded silently when he pulled away.

"I'm going to clear up this mess now," he explained.

She hesitated, as if processing his words slowly. Her brow furrowed, then she nodded again.

George brusquely waved his wand over the floor, Vanishing the mess as he went, following the trail of gore as it led through the kitchen, down the steps, and into the garden all the way to the back gate. A minute later, he was back in Annie's room, wand lit, examining the walls and floors, looking for any leftover traces of blood. He was determined nothing would remain as witness of what had happened.

Finding nothing, he went back to Annie's side. Her whole body was starting to tremble now. George sat down on the bed next to Annie, arms around her, rubbing her shoulders and back, trying to soothe her.

They heard Fred return two minutes later. "It's me," he called quietly from the back door.

When he got to the doorway to Annie's room, George began issuing new orders in a quiet voice. "I'm taking Annie back to the Burrow. Make sure there's no trail leading to the woods. Lock up the house and come home as soon as you can."

"What do you want me to do with the dead dog in the front room?" Fred asked quietly.

George winced and glanced at Annie. Thankfully, she didn't seem to have heard the question. He spared a respectful thought for the faithful stray who had just given his life for Annie's. Poor Michael.

"Bury him in the garden once we're gone."

Fred nodded, turned, and left for the front room.

George turned to Annie and gently held her face up toward his. "We're going to my house now. Can you stand up?" he asked.

Annie blinked for the first time. Her body was no longer merely trembling but now violently shaking. She attempted to stand and immediately collapsed.

George easily caught her; his arms were already around her. She clung weakly to his neck as he lifted her up. As he started to Apparate on the spot, he felt the shaking stop as her body went limp.

Two seconds later, he was at the kitchen door of his childhood home. He could see a light burning within. Someone must be awake still, he thought. He opened the door with a verbal command and strode indoors.

His mother was sitting at the table. She must have been waiting up for someone, he reckoned – Fred, perhaps? George hadn't spent a night in the Burrow since before Christmas, so it was not unreasonable that his mother was shocked to see him. Her eyes grew large and her hand flew to her mouth as she surveyed the two of them in the doorway.

"What...?" was all she could manage to utter.

"I'm all right. Fred's on his way. Annie was attacked at her house. I think she's passed out from shock," he quickly explained as he carried her inside.

In the seconds it took for him to speak, Molly recovered herself. "Take her into the living room. Lay her on the sofa by the fire," she calmly directed him.

George nodded and did as he was told, moving quickly into the other room. Molly hurriedly gathered a bottle labeled "Smelling Salts," one labeled "Calming Draught," and a teacup, then followed him through the door.

"Gently, gently," she admonished her son as he bent to his knees and laid Annie's still-limp body on the cushions. "Annie...? Annie.... Wake up now, dear," she said gently.

Annie's eyes fluttered open and rested on Molly's smiling face for a moment, then frantically searched around until she found George. Her body started to tremble again, and her face turned an alarming shade of pale.

"Quick, George! The bin," Molly commanded.

George grabbed the wastebin at the far end of the sofa and handed it to his mother just in time. Annie rolled over and started to retch into it.

George could barely contain the rage that welled up at the sight of Annie in this state. He clenched his fists until his the skin of his palms stung and ground his jaw until his head pounded from the pressure. How could this have happened? How could they have found her? We were so careful....

Meanwhile, Molly gently stroked Annie's hunched back and spoke soothing words that George couldn't quite make out over the ringing in his ears. Finally, Annie was still for a whole minute.

"There now. All done?" Molly crooned.

Annie hesitated a few moments more, then nodded.

"A cool, wet flannel, if you please, George," Molly said.

Reluctantly, George stood up and walked away toward the bathroom. Who could have known about her? About us?

When he returned to the living room with the washcloth, Annie was sitting upright, holding a steaming teacup full of liquid. George's father was standing next to the sofa now in his robe, regarding Annie with a concerned look. He felt his father's eyes rise from Annie and follow himself as he crossed the room. He handed the wet cloth to his mother, then took a seat next to Annie on the sofa. George couldn't face his father's curious stare and looked away. Someone must have Vanished the mess in the wastebin, George commented to himself.

"Try another small sip, dearie," Molly coaxed. "That's it.... A little more.... There. Feeling better?" Molly cooed in her warmest, most motherly voice.

"Yes. A bit," squeaked Annie.

George's emotions spun once more in turmoil. He felt relief at her answer – that she could finally speak – but this feeling was quickly eclipsed by the increasingly impotent rage he felt inspired by the pitiful tone of her voice. When I find out who's behind this....

Molly carefully took the cup from Annie's hand and set it aside. Next, she gently mopped Annie's brow with the cloth, held it in place on her forehead, then gingerly placed Annie's own hand on it. "You hold it there, now. Ah, good, good. Now, why don't you tell us what happened?" said Molly softly.

At that moment, the back door banged open then shut again, startling everyone in the room. Molly and Arthur spun around toward the noise.

"Hold on a sec. I'd like to hear this, too," called a voice moving quickly through the kitchen.

"Fred!" cried Molly as he strode through the doorway and took a seat near the sofa.

George made eye contact with his brother, who nodded almost invisibly, indicating the tasks he had been charged with had been taken care of. Then all eyes turned again to Annie.

She cleared her throat and started to speak, addressing herself to George but staring into the fire. "Michael and I were lying in bed after you left. He was acting oddly all night long – whimpering and whining – but he didn't want to go out. Wouldn't leave my side, even." She paused, as if pondering the dog's behavior anew.

Arthur and Molly both looked quizzically at George. The dog, he mouthed silently. They looked back at Annie.

"There was a quiet sort of noise. From the front door. Michael started to growl and got down off the bed."

Annie paused again. A violent shudder went through her body but quickly passed. Molly responded by handing her the teacup once more and gestured for her to drink again. Annie obeyed, then continued.

"He left my room and walked into the front, growling the whole way. Then I heard him snarl and lunge, then a howl, then nothing."

She stopped and looked at George, who was staring at the floor and would not meet her eyes. She gazed up at Fred, searching for information. "Michael?"

Fred pursed his lips, shook his head slightly, then looked away. A grimace of pain crossed Annie's face, and her breath began to come more quickly, more raggedly.

George's fists were clenched so tightly in his lap his knuckles were white. He thought they might be starting to go numb. Someone will pay dearly for this.

"Take another drink, Annie," Molly encouraged. When Annie was slow to respond, Molly gently pushed the cup up to her lips and tipped some of the liquid in. A moment later, Annie seemed calm again.

"Go on, dear," Arthur urged quietly.

"I pressed the button on the phone to send the message to George. I grabbed the gun and hid behind the door." She turned again to George and said, "Just like you told me to."

George swallowed and carefully nodded. "Good girl," was all he could say.

He couldn't imagine where he found the self-control to keep his voice from breaking, let alone screaming. The vision of Annie hiding behind her bedroom door, terrified, while that subhuman thing walked through her house nearly drove him insane. Darker thoughts than he'd ever had before began to whisper themselves. Azkaban's too good.... Dementor's kiss too merciful.... Crucio.... Avada–.

"I heard footsteps walk down the hall. I saw what looked like a wand come through the door first, then an arm, then a head."

Annie was silent for several seconds as her eyes filled with tears. Then her face crumpled. "I shot him! I killed him!" she cried as her lips trembled. Sobs began to rip out of her.

For a few moments, everyone else in the room was paralyzed by Annie's declaration.

George felt like he was going to burst into flames with the pent-up rage inside him, and his breath came in ragged gasps through his clenched teeth. He wanted to leap up from the couch, run from the room, and hunt down whoever was responsible. He wanted to hold Annie tightly and soothe her until she felt safe again and would weep no more. But he found that he could not move; his every muscle was rigid with tension and would obey no conscious command.

Molly was the first to recover. She gathered Annie into her arms, stroking her hair, rocking her gently, hushing her sobs. Annie slowly started to regain control. A few minutes later she was quiet again and drinking from the cup at Molly's urging.

"After...." She gulped rather than speak the words. "I just stood there. I don't know how long. The next thing I remember is George coming into the room. And then... then I woke up here."

The room was quiet for a few moments as everyone absorbed the tale. No one looked at anyone else as they each tried to decipher the significance, interpret the ramifications of what had happened that night. What exactly did it all mean?

Fred was the first to break the silence. "George got her message just as we finished tonight. We got to Annie's house in time to hear the shot," he said, adding what little bit of their own perspective there was to offer.

George had spent the last minute forcing his breathing to slow and his clenched fists to open through monumental effort of will. As Fred spoke, he braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his now aching hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. His fingers began to contract again involuntarily, pulling on his hair as they did.

I will murder the filthy sons of bitches who dared to try to touch her!

Annie saw George's agonized movement out of the corner of her eye and turned away from Fred to face him. Alarmed by what she saw, she raised the cup to her lips and hastily gulped the last of the potion.

Molly took the cup from Annie's hands once again. She gently turned Annie's face toward her own and held it there until Annie's eyes finally tore themselves away from George. "Annie. Listen to me now," Molly spoke with quiet fervor. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing! You had no other choice. Do you understand?"

She waited for a response. When Annie just stared blankly back, Molly prompted her further. "You did nothing wrong," she repeated. "Now nod your head yes and tell me you understand."

Annie nodded her head silently.

Arthur spoke next. "Fred, George, join me in the kitchen, will you?"

His father's stern voice seemed to snap George out of whatever dimension of insanity he was currently residing in. His arms dropped to his sides as he lifted his head once more. He looked directly at Annie for the first time in... how long had they been here? Two hours? Ten minutes? He couldn't tell. But he could see the potion was well into her system now, and she was starting to look a bit stoned. She stared dumbly into the fire.

His mother gathered up the cup and bottles. "I'll just clear this away, then I'll sit with her until you lot finish," she said quietly. She rose from the sofa, then stood next to her still-seated son. Molly could not resist the urge to pat his shoulder, rub his arm, and, finally, smooth his mussed hair.

George closed his eyes as he felt his mother's soothing hand on him, willing himself to be calmed by it. A brief time passed – maybe a minute, he wasn't sure – then his mother was back.

"Go on now, George," she urged.

George took a deep breath. He was surprised by the amount of relief that act brought him. Perhaps he had forgotten to breathe before? He nodded to his mother, rose from the sofa, and walked Inferius-like to the kitchen. Fred and his father were already seated at the table.

"Who was it?" asked Arthur as George sank heavily into a seat.

"No one I recognized," answered Fred. "Possibly a Death Eater but definitely not one of the higher-ups. No Dark Mark. Maybe a new recruit?"

"What if he was Imperiused?" worried Arthur while his hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"What does that matter?" whispered Fred angrily.

"He was there for one purpose: to hurt Annie," growled George at the same time. "For that he deserved to die." As will others, when I find them.

"You're sure he's dead?" continued Arthur, looking at George with thinly veiled alarm.

"No question," Fred answered when George didn't.

"Where is he now?"

"Let's just say he won't be turning up again," said Fred with a grim smile.

"Any witnesses? Muggle or otherwise?" Arthur questioned.

"Doubt it. Her house is far enough away from any neighbors for them to hear or see much.... I didn't see anyone else around the area," Fred reported. "Either he was alone or his companions bolted before we got there."

"This doesn't make any sense," Arthur sighed. "Why Annie, out of all of us? Why now?"

Neither of his sons attempted an answer this time. Arthur stopped drumming his fingers after a moment and looked up from the table, unnerved by the quiet. He saw Fred was staring at his brother with a face of stone. George clenched his jaw and refused to look anyone in the eye.

"George, is there something you want to tell me?" Arthur asked.

Silence. A moment later, George stood up and left the room without a word.

Arthur looked back at Fred. Stone-faced Fred, who watched his twin brother leave the room while boring into his back with his eyes.

Another moment passed, and a thought clicked into place in Arthur's brain. He closed his eyes and dropped his slowly shaking head to his chest. Oh, George, you didn't....

Several minutes later, Arthur wearily rose from the table and walked back into the sitting room. Annie was sitting on the sofa between his wife and his son. She leaned heavily on George, whose arms were around her and eyes were closed. He glanced at the one clock in the room that actually told the time; it was four a.m.

"All right, then. Nothing more for it tonight. Let's all get some rest for a few more hours 'til morning and make whatever plans we need to make then. Annie, you're welcome to sleep in Ginny's room for tonight, at the very least."

Annie seemed to snap out of her trance at the sound of Arthur's voice. She clutched at George's arm. "You'll stay with me?" she pleaded.

Molly pursed her lips. "Now, Annie, I don't think..." she began to protest.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Molly," interrupted Arthur. "Leave them be." He took his wife by the arm and led her up the stairs to their room.

Fred followed them up a few minutes later, his arms loaded with a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of butterbeer.

George took Annie's arm and wrapped it around his, lacing their fingers together. He eased her up off the couch and escorted her upstairs to the bathroom. She squeezed his hand, then released him and closed the door.

A couple of minutes passed, then the door opened again. He replaced her arm and hand in his, opened the vanity's cupboard, and removed a small bottle. He extinguished the light and walked her back down a flight of stairs and into his sister's room.

"Sit."

Annie obeyed him instantly.

He removed the stopper from the bottle and held it out to her. "Drink this – just a sip."

Utterly compliant, she took a drink straight from the bottle. He set it on the nightstand.

"Lay down."

He climbed into the bed behind her. It was too small for them both; if he stretched out his legs, they would hang off the end. Instead, he curled his too-big body around her tiny, fragile one and held her as she succumbed to the sleeping potion and drifted off.

Meanwhile, his brain began its obsessive work. Who was behind the attack? How much do they know? How did they find out?

Where can I find them?

*

Arthur also lay awake in bed upstairs, unable to stop the racing thoughts in his head. If his theory was correct, George had managed to escalate the Weasley family's blood traitor status tenfold, maybe more.

Arthur had nothing against Annie; in fact, he genuinely liked her. Thought she was a charming girl, really. If one could ignore the current political climate, he'd've been happy to think of her as a member of his family. And anyone could see the depth of their feelings for one another, the love that bonded his son to her. If there were any justice left in the world, they shouldn't have had to give this marriage a second thought.

For that's what it was now, wasn't it? A marriage. He didn't know the how or when, but he was growing more confident by the moment of his suspicion: George had married her.

Arthur had to admit he was actually quite proud of George for taking such a stand, even in secret. He had always taught his children to judge others by their characters, not their pedigrees. Clearly, George had taken the lesson to heart. And it was beyond ridiculous: the way the Ministry was treating people they deemed had imagined impurities of bloodline.

Who could really blame them for eloping? Even so young? Hadn't he seen this coming, after Bill's wedding?

Hadn't he done the very same thing?

His son's timing was just impeccably horrid. But then again, his own family, and that of his wife, had made the same arguments when he and Molly were newly married in the midst of the last war.

Oh, George – what have you done?

Like father, like son, he supposed.

What a nest of trouble we've all found ourselves in now, he thought. One son defying the government by secretly, not to mention illegally, marrying a Muggle girl. Three more sons were covertly working alongside him in the resistance movement. His youngest son was on the lam, plotting with public enemy number one (no less!) to destroy the one who oppressed them all. And he had heard the rumors of what Ginny was up to, doing what she could to resist what was going on at Hogwarts under Snape. Mustn't forget to include myself, spying within the Ministry for the Order. They were all in it up to their necks... excluding Percy, of course.

All in all, he couldn't be more proud of his children. Or more afraid for them.

*

Annie woke. The tiny room was bright with light streaming in through a window. Even though she'd had a completely dreamless sleep – for which she was grateful – the rest had done little to dissipate the memory of last night. Her body had relaxed, at least – no more tremors, no more nausea. Actually, she was feeling slightly numb. She wondered if it was a result of whatever was in the little cobalt blue bottle sitting on the nightstand.

Her mind, however, was a different story. She could feel the maelstrom of horror was hiding somewhere near the base of her skull, waiting for an opportunity to take over again.

Just then, George lightly kissed her cheek.

He had taken it upon himself to be both her pillow and her blanket last night. A small but steady upwelling of warmth began to spread into her body from within her heart, and the maelstrom shrank significantly in its presence. She took his hand in hers, raised it to her lips, and kissed his palm in response. She said a silent little prayer of thanks for her own personal security blanket.

"You hungry?" he asked her quietly.

Not his usual morning greeting. She thought back to the recent mornings she had woken up with him in her bed and hearing, "Good morning!" in his cheerful voice. She recalled how he nearly always awoke in a playful mood, smiling, often aroused. She hated hearing the anxiety, the seriousness in his voice now.

"I suppose," she answered. She wasn't really but didn't want to give him further reason for concern.

Annie sat up stiffly and began to stretch. She turned back to look at George and instantly regretted it. There was no smile on his face to greet her; it had been replaced by a brow furrowed with worry. He clearly had not slept at all. His somber expression and the self-blame in his eyes stabbed at her heart. She felt the maelstrom twitch awake.

"What time is it?" she asked as she stood up and stretched some more.

He rolled out of bed and hovered next to her. "Dunno. Maybe nine or so."

Another stab at her heart. The lively animation in George's voice had gone. She desperately hoped it was temporary. "I must be a frightening sight," she said, running her hands over her tangled hair. "Maybe I should shower first."

George took her face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs like he often did. Annie closed her eyes to avoid his searching gaze.

"I've never seen you look so horrible. You look like you've had the worst night of your life."

The words themselves could have been typical smart-mouthed George, if not for the choked sound of his voice. She opened her eyes to see his face was grimacing. "George. Stop it."

He dropped his hands and looked away.

That wasn't what she had intended. She reached up and took his face into her hands instead. "I'm...."

"Do not lie to me and say you are fine, or I will lose it," he interrupted harshly in a voice that was no less fierce just because it was quiet.

"No. You're right. I'm not exactly fine at the moment, but I will be," she assured him earnestly.

He pursed his lips but nodded slowly all the same. Reaching over her shoulder, he grabbed Ginny's bathrobe and flicked it off the hook with his wrist. "You can put this on when you've finished," he instructed, then led her to the bathroom.

Annie took a long, hot shower. When she was done, she put her pajamas back on, for lack of anything else, then wrapped the robe around her body snugly. She went directly to the kitchen, following the sound of quiet voices.

Everyone stopped talking when she entered the room. Molly greeted her warmly but with a cheerfulness that was somewhat forced. Fred and George sat at the table, drinking from steaming mugs. Annie joined them at the table and took a scone from a plate there. She began to nibble at it – mostly for show – and Molly set a mug of coffee in front of her.

"Have a bite to eat, dear, then it's back to bed. The best thing for you today is rest," she said in a comforting, motherly voice.

"Actually, I was planning to have a run," Annie replied. Spending the day in bed was the last thing she wanted. She needed physical activity – the more strenuous, the better, she reckoned – not more drugged-out sleep.

Molly opened her mouth to argue, but George stepped in quickly. "I'll join you, if that's all right."

Annie knew he wasn't really leaving her the option to refuse, but she was glad to think he'd be with her. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but not actually alone. She nodded in acquiescence.

"I'll pop over to your place and get some of your things, then," he added.

"We'll have a look around while we're there," Fred chimed in. The two of them looked pointedly at one another, and George nodded slightly.

Molly looked as if she wanted to discourage her sons, or at least urge them to be careful, but held her tongue, not wanting to acknowledge in front of Annie there was anything to be worried about. "Be quick, then," was all she said.

Molly and Annie waited in the kitchen for the boys' return, awkwardly trying to keep up a casual conversation that died in fits and starts. They were relieved in more ways than one when Fred and George strode through the door once more. George set a small knapsack on the table next to Annie, kissed her quickly on the top of her head, and headed off upstairs to get ready.

"Nothing unusual," Fred shrugged in response to his mother's unspoken question. He yawned. "I'm knackered," he added and headed out of the room, dragging his feet.

"I'll get all of this, dear. You go on," urged Molly, clearing off the table with a wave of her wand.

Annie went back to Ginny's room and got dressed in her running gear. George was ready and waiting for her in the kitchen when she returned.

"Don't be too long," Molly's voice called after them through the door.

They spent a few moments stretching and acclimating their muscles to the chill air. Then they jogged down the lane. By the time they reached the road, Annie was in her zone.

She was deeply comforted by the sense of command she felt over her body. Her muscles and bones moved flawlessly in concert to propel her forward. She felt her mind detach itself from any conscious effort; running became more like steering a giant ship on an open ocean, requiring only slight, occasional adjustments. This detachment was precisely what she sought out today. Here in this trancelike state, she found her conscious mind somehow became more malleable.

Annie had discovered a few years ago that she was adept at compartmentalizing her brain. She had honed that skill ever since, working to build a sort of inner, mental vault in which to trap thoughts that were far too disturbing to permit to roam freely in her mind. In this way, she could protect herself from the brunt of their hurtful tendencies, since she was unable to banish them completely. This was the visualization skill that Jane had suggested and Annie had adapted for her own use.

The first thoughts she had ever stored in the vault were of her mother. The pain of her abandonment, the guilt over longing for an actual mother when her grandmother had done so much for her, the hatred she felt for her mother's weakness, the rage against her idiotic, selfish choices. Even the grief over her mother's death that she could only assume must have surely happened long ago now. These thoughts had plagued her as a younger girl, making it difficult sometimes to think clearly, leaving her so vulnerable to anger and hurt. Now, they each had their own place within in the vault.

The newest portion of the vault contained the sad loneliness she felt upon her Gran's death. There she had wept over the fact that Gran would be unable to share the future of happiness her life with George would surely hold in abundance. Annie lamented that they would share no more holidays, no more quiet chats. There would be no chance to place her own babies into Gran's welcoming arms. The sharp, destructive, nearly crippling agony of them was locked away in the vault, for it did no honor to her grandmother's memory to wallow in it. Once those were safely segregated, the gentler feelings of grief and happier reminiscences were permitted to occupy her thoughts, instead.

The control she had developed over her mind was perhaps equal to that which she had over her body while she ran. She had not yet found a thought powerful enough to break out of the vault unbidden once she had placed there. Only once in a rare while could something upset her to the point that she would open one of those rooms and connect with the wild emotion inside for a brief moment – sometimes even draw release from it.

The only possible exceptions to the rule, she reckoned, were her love, her desire, her need for George. She doubted those could ever be contained in something as small as the vault; they already overflowed her mind, heart and soul.

She now set to work on construction of yet another new addition to the vault. She needed to be able to think clearly and logically about the events of last night, unclouded by horror. She carefully teased out the powerful emotions swirling in the maelstrom of last night. One by one, she examined them, identified them, and placed them in this new room.

The terror she felt as she had watched the unknown man creep into her bedroom... click.

The agonizing guilt she felt for ending the life of another human being... click.

The fury she felt at the violation of it all... click.

The ache she felt for Michael's sacrifice – she paused as she considered it and decided to leave that one free for the time being. It would not be right to lock that away just yet. He deserved the honor of her grief.

The rest were now sealed in the vault. Now that her mental work was done, she began to disengage the auto-pilot of her body. Slowly, she became consciously aware of her surroundings, the jolting sensations of her feet rhythmically hitting pavement. She cast around with eyes and ears for George and heard him at a comfortable distance a few feet behind her.

She had no idea for how long or how far they had run, but she wasn't quite ready to stop. She focused now on the senses she had ignored before. The air was cold on her skin and in her lungs. The sun was weak, peaking through the clouds only periodically. The road was quiet; the only sounds she could hear were footsteps and breathing.

It wasn't much longer before she felt her leg muscles start to tire. She slowed to a stop, breathing hard but pleasantly so. The exertion had been a comforting relief, but she didn't want to completely exhaust herself. She needed to save something for the way back, after all.

George had mirrored her pace exactly, following her lead, yet leaving her in peace. She watched his chest heave as he caught his breath. His face was screwed slightly into a squint, as if the light was a bit too bright. His cheeks were flushed in the loveliest shade of rose.

Annie closed the distance between them in three steps. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her forehead against his breastbone. She felt him fold his hands around her in response. They stood silently together for a while until all the bodily signs of effort were erased: their breathing slowed, the muscles cooled, the perspiration dried. Meanwhile, Annie silently thanked and praised the universe for the person in her arms.

George held Annie, lightly yet closely, until she lifted her head to look up at him. When he finally gazed into her eyes, he saw no remaining vestige of the terrified panic he'd seen there last night. Their violet calmness washed over him.

George was as relieved as he was baffled. For the second time in less than a month, he had witnessed Annie get hit with successive crushing blows: first her Gran's death, then the attack of last night. Each time, his heart had wrenched as he saw her body buffeted, her knees start to buckle under the force of the traumas. And just like the last time, he now found himself astounded by her strength, her resilience.

He had been in an agony of his own last night, worried that this new violation, following so soon after the loss of her grandmother, would destroy the peace she was beginning to recover. He found instead that he had seriously underestimated his wife. She had bounced back even more quickly this time.

On her cue, they began to walk hand in hand back down the road. He guessed they had come several miles at least. He offered to pop back to the Burrow and bring the truck 'round to collect her.

"I'm not too tired. If it's all right with you, I'd rather walk," she answered.

They walked without speaking further for most of the distance back, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Finally, when they reached the lane that led to the Burrow, he broke the silence.

"Mum and Dad want you to stay with us now... for a while... at least until we know more about what happened. Dad went in to work this morning to see what he could find out." George didn't hold out much hope that his father would discover anything more about last night's attack. Death Eaters hadn't taken to broadcasting their activities openly at the Ministry... yet.

Annie nodded slowly. "I don't think I could stay in my house again. Remind me to thank them when we get back," she replied. She kept her head bent, looking down at her feet, deep in thought.

George breathed a deep sigh, grateful she was being so reasonable. He had feared she might be unwilling to leave her grandmother's house – afraid she might see the move as abandoning her Gran's memory, or a step toward giving up her independence. Or even worse: conceding defeat in the face of last night's attack. He had personally witnessed time and again how bull-headed she could get, digging in her heels if she thought she was being bullied or manipulated into something. Her willing cooperation was likely a testament to how deeply she had been shaken – a thought which brought yet another flare of rage against the perpetrators responsible.

"What do you think he was after?" she asked him after a few moments passed.

George looked intently at Annie's face, searching for a sign the fear had returned. Seeing no such signs, he decided it was safe to answer honestly. "Dunno. I've been wondering that myself. Might have been a random incident of Muggle harassment, I suppose."

She wasn't buying it anymore than he did. "Or maybe he was after you? Because of your work?" she said.

George knew she wasn't talking about the Wheezes. Perhaps the Death Eaters had discovered who was providing aid to the refugee wizards throughout the country. Or the source of the radio broadcasts, for that matter. But he thought that was unlikely. "Possibly. Though if that were case, why didn't he come after Fred or me directly? At the Burrow, or...."

"Or maybe he was after you," she interrupted, "and he thought... or he knew... he could find you at my house. Which means he knew about us."

George took another deep breath. "Yes, that's sort of what Fred and I have concluded as well." But how? he wondered silently once again. They had been so maddeningly careful for so long! Why now?

Annie continued, following the logic of her train of thought. "And, failing to find you, there was always me – and through me, the chance to get to you," she said, swallowing hard.

"I will never let that happen!" he cried, immediately wincing at the idiocy of the statement.

Annie caught it, too; she shot him an exasperated look as if to say, That's exactly what almost did happen.

"Annie, any way you look at it, we'll all be safer keeping you with us," George insisted. "I could've hexed your house six ways from Sunday, and it would have kept him out, but it also would have been a beacon, pointing to something valuable being hidden. Put a target on your head the moment you stepped outside. At my house, I can protect you so much better than before, and you'll never be alone...."

"I'll never get to leave, you mean," she argued, cutting him off.

George hadn't fooled her for a second: she clearly understood his primary motivation for moving her into the Burrow. He wouldn't have to worry about her being alone and vulnerable in her grandmother's house anymore when he wasn't there. And he could tell by her expression that she looked forward to what amounted to house arrest in her eyes just as much as he would have. Further, he conceded she was right: it had been a nightmare for him, being cooped up in the Burrow for the last few months. But this way, he rationalized, at least they could be together all the time.

George took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. He had to convince her that it was time for her to leave Ottery behind for good, to live with him where he could keep her safe his way, fighting magic with magic. And he had wanted this for so long now, anyway.

"We belong together! You already have leave from your job – just quit it altogether. There's nothing keeping you in your Gran's house – you said so yourself. Nothing's left to hold you in that world anymore. It's time to come with me and live in mine now!" He searched her eyes, begging her to say yes with his own.

Annie was swept away by the emotional force of his plea. He was completely right – she could see that. Now did seem to be the perfect time to cut loose from the real world and enter the fairy tale entirely. There was nothing left in Ottery, or in her Gran's house, or in her Muggle life that she wasn't willing to abandon in a heartbeat to be with him. And now that they had been found out by whatever criminal syndicate that passed for the wizarding authorities at the moment, it was asking for trouble to remain in the village, exposed and waiting for another attack.

She slowly nodded in agreement. "So that's it, then? I just drop off the face of the earth as far as the normal world is concerned? Move in to your parents' house?"

George nodded and grinned, pleased by how well this was going. A major decision in their lives had just been made: she had just agreed to forsake the life she had known, everything she grew up with, for him. He sighed with relief, enhanced by a healthy dose of elation at his victory.

"I was worried you were going to put up a fight – make this more difficult. 'An obedient wife is a treasure for life,' isn't that what they say?" he teased her.

Annie reluctantly smiled. As monumental and serious as this decision was, she was happy to hear him joking with her again. She shoved him playfully away in mock indignation and smirked, though. Did he really have to use the word obedient?

He righted himself, then scooped her up into her arms. They were only a few yards from the Burrow now. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he carried her the rest of the way, magically opened the door, and crossed the threshold.

A throat cleared, startling them both. "Have a nice stretch of the leg, then, dears?" Molly asked in an unnerved voice, eyes wide.

Smiling, George set Annie down; she couldn't quite suppress a giggle.