Minutiae

Chapter 37: Minutiae

February 1998

Annie trudged up the winding steps to the second floor, balancing the two baskets of clean laundry she had offered to deliver upstairs for Molly. The past week she'd spent in the Burrow had been far from the miserable prison sentence she had been dreading. Now she was with George and his family all day, every day, in the magically fascinating and cozily charming home he grew up in. And someday soon, the time would be right when they could reveal to his parents that they were married, and there would be no more hiding anything from anyone.

When she reached the boys' bedroom, the door was inconveniently closed. Lifting one leg to brace the baskets, she tried turning the knob. It moved, but the door only budged about an inch. Annie gave it a firm shove with her backside. She heard the sound of a cardboard box scraping against the floor as she pressed her way in.

Annie found herself alone in George and Fred's room. She'd walked past it many times before on the way to the bathroom, but never set foot inside before now. The most noticeable features of the room were the two identical unmade beds that extended parallel to each other from the wall. It wasn't immediately clear to her which boy slept in which bed.

I should probably stop thinking about my husband as a boy, she corrected herself silently, smiling. It gave her a little thrill just to think the word: husband!

She stood in place, resting the stack of baskets on the edge of one of the beds, and surveyed the chaos surrounding her. Boxes in various states of dilapidation from abusive overuse lined the walls; several of them either jerked occasionally or made odd noises. The floor was littered with bits and pieces of parchment, wood, metal, broken quills and other magical detritus. A collection of nearly a dozen cauldrons of various sizes teetered precariously atop an armoire that she guessed must be serving as a closet, due to the shirt sleeve caught between the almost-closed doors. Several plates of half-eaten food rested on the bedside tables. Three large posters featuring Quidditch players randomly darting in and out of the frames were stuck to the wall above the beds.

Something else caught her eye. Four small, unmoving pictures were pinned just above and to the side of the bed furthest from the door. She carefully waded through the mess on the floor to get a closer look at them, then smiled in recognition.

One picture had been taken when they were fifteen: she was a bit blurry in it because she had been attempting to escape being photographed by George while Fred's goofy face rested on her shoulder. Another was older still – they were fourteen, and the three of them were smiling together for the camera; it had been taken by a passerby who had offered to photograph them together when they had gone hiking in Dartmoor. Then there was the picture he had taken of her floating on the sailboard at the beach.

The final and most recent picture had been taken nearly a year ago on the night of her birthday. A semi-sober Fred had snapped a slightly unfocussed picture of her and George together in the booth at the pub while declaring his photographic services were his birthday gift to her. Their pose was the furthest thing from romantic: George had been in the midst of taking a drink from his pint, and Annie was reaching out toward the camera, an aggravated smile on her face as she demanded Fred give it back to her. She did recall that George had been resting his hand on her knee at that moment....

"I'm fairly sure this room is out-of-bounds for the likes of you," she heard George's hushed yet playful voice from the doorway behind her.

"Oh!" She jumped and partly turned around toward the door, startled by the interruption. In the process, the top basket tumbled over, spilling the once neatly folded clothes onto the floor.

"Damn!" she muttered in frustration. "Though I suppose this lot will end up there soon enough," she teased. "You two are absolute pigs. Look at this mess!"

She bent down and began putting the clothes back in the basket while George fully entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

"You don't have to do that, you know. You're living in a wizard's house now," he laughed and flicked his wand a few times. The clothes sailed into the closets, and the beds made themselves. She watched the mess on the floor retreat to hide underneath the beds.

"You think you're so impressive," she said as she folded her arms and sniffed, trying to hide how impressed she really was. It didn't matter that she witnessed this sort of thing day in, day out, now. My husband can do magic!

"My wife seems to think so, anyway," he joked quietly, as if he could hear her thoughts. George put his arms around her and pulled her close, smiling conspiratorially as he uttered their secret out loud.

"Clearly biased, the silly cow. With shamefully low standards, to boot," she teased him.

George laughed and tried to pull her down with him as he sank onto the bed. She resisted lying down with him, but instead sat to the side of the bed while he lounged on his back down the middle, keeping hold of her hands and pinning them to his shoulders.

"Oh, no, you don't. Your mother would murder me on sight for corrupting the innocence of her little darling," she protested.

"No use crying over that particular spilt potion," he said with a wicked look in his eyes.

"You mean milk," she corrected him as her heart began to pound in response to his gaze.

"I mean, you're here already... in my room... on my bed.... So, in for a Sickle...."

"I was trying to snoop before you so rudely interrupted me," she said, desperately trying to resist the temptation. If they were caught now, before they had told everyone....

"Oh, well, in that case, by all means, please do continue." He released her hands, folding his own behind his head. "You'll likely find some racy mags under Fred's mattress."

"Is that your hiding place?" she quipped.

George snorted dismissively. He tapped on the side of his forehead with his finger, then waggled his eyebrows at her in an exaggerated leer. Annie laughed out loud at his naughty implication. George hushed her, scandalized by the volume of her outburst.

Annie turned to the closet at the foot of his bed against the opposite wall. "I wonder what's in here?" she said more quietly this time, coyly looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Probably nothing, but while you're poking your nose about, would you mind bending over again? I think I stashed some interesting stuff on the floor in there you might like to inspect."

"Such a troll!" she scolded him.

George grunted in validation, and she rolled her eyes.

Turning back to the closet, she opened the doors to have a look inside. There were indeed boxes on the floor, but she knew George well enough to be extremely leery of their contents. Instead, she ran her hands over the clothes that hung on the bar, rifling them and stirring up his scent in the process. A dark, billowy article toward the back caught her attention.

"What's this?" she asked in genuine curiosity.

George sat up in bed to see what she meant. "Oh – school uniform," he replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Annie pushed the other clothes to one side in order to better examine the uniform. A white shirt hung with a red-and-yellow-striped tie draped around the collar. A dark grey jumper had a lion crest on the left breast. And the black robe, which had caught her eye in the first place, had yet another crest featuring a prominent letter H. She traced the line of buttons down the white shirt with her finger.

"You wore these clothes every day when you were at Hogwarts," she mused aloud.

"Not every day for seven years! Some people grow throughout adolescence, you know," he teased her.

Annie stuck out her tongue in response.

"Those were part of my final set. I wanted to bin the lot of them, but Mum insisted we keep some. For posterity's sake, I suppose." He got up as he spoke and walked toward her. "As if anyone would ever give a flying...."

"Put them on! I want to see you!" she whispered excitedly, cutting him off. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to see in person what he had really looked like during all the long months, years even, while he was apart from her.

"Don't be daft!" he chuckled. "Surely we can think of something better to do..." he whispered as he reached out for her.

She bit her lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes. She had been beginning to experiment with these sorts of tactics instead of resorting to her usual, more violent coercions, and so far met with far more success than failure. With both hands on his chest, she pleaded in her most sugary voice. "Please?"

George groaned and rolled his eyes. "You cannot be serious. Absolutely not." Then he bent to kiss her disappointed face. "I escaped that place to come for you," he said in a low voice as he began kissing her neck. "Just like a knight in shining armor... on a white horse," he whispered, a sly smile spreading on his face while his fingers traced the tattoo he was describing on her lower back.

Annie was not to be deterred. How many times had she imagined being a student at Hogwarts along with George and Fred? She determinedly pushed him away. "Well, if you won't, I will!"

She yanked off her shirt and slid her arms into the white uniform oxford. George's face was a mix of amusement and curiosity as he watched her do so. The uniform shirt was far too big on her. In her haste, she buttoned only the first three buttons, then reached for the tie.

"Help me with this," she commanded.

George shrugged but played along, wiggling the knot up to the notch at the base of her throat. She carelessly stuffed the front shirttails into her waistband of her jeans. She didn't notice the unbuttoned lower portion of the front of the shirt had split open, revealing her navel, but George did.

"Now hand me the robe," she ordered him.

George continued to humor her, helping her pull it on over the too-long shirt sleeves that hid her hands. A slow smile began to break over his face. He took her by the shoulders and spun her around to face the mirror on the inside of the closet door.

"There. You look like a proper little Gryffindor witch now," he teased.

Annie wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this. She looked like a child trying on an adult's clothes. She sighed in disappointment. "I'm swimming in these! I look like a complete idiot," she whined. She turned back to face George, shaking off the robe and tossing it on the bed. "I'm surprised you're not laughing yourself stupid at this."

George was as well. He had to admit, she did look somewhat ridiculous in the clown-sized clothes. But, to his surprise, there was something about seeing her in his clothes that was quite... arousing.

Maybe it was because they had not made love since before the attack. The first couple of days following, neither of them had felt very romantically inclined. Not to mention that in the meantime, his mother had taken it upon herself to serve as a constant chaperone, hovering around them at all times. He had even overheard her once, whispering to his father, asking him to put a chastity charm on Annie's door.

"I most certainly will not, and neither will you!" his father had said, scandalized. "How would that make Annie feel safe or welcome in our house?"

All this was made all the more aggravating because here she was, his wife, living in his house. She was never more than a few feet away, yet remained frustratingly untouchable. It had been driving him mad for days at this point.

Whatever the reason, they were miraculously alone now. He slid the fingers of one hand into her curls and gently tilted back her dejectedly-hanging-down head, lifting her face to his. The other hand found its way through the open front of the shirt at her waist and moved slowly upward to cup one breast, his thumb caressing the line where the lace of her bra ended and flesh began.

Annie's eyes closed and her hand clutched his forearm as George kissed her.

They were so caught up in the moment that neither one heard the door open behind them. It was the loud, obnoxious retching sound which followed that startled Annie and made her break away from the kiss. She couldn't see around George's body to the doorway where the sound had come from.

George didn't let go of her, or even turn around, in response. He still held her head, but removed his hand from inside the shirt.

"That is the most repulsive, perverted thing I have ever seen! I want to gouge out my eyes. You people disgust me," Fred exaggeratedly hissed.

"I'll do far worse than gouge your eyes if you're not gone in two seconds," George snarled in a whisper, turning his head only slightly to address his brother.

Annie heard Fred snort, unimpressed.

In a lightning fast move, his wand now in hand, George flashed a jinx over his shoulder in Fred's direction. There was a loud bang, a scuffle, then a muttered swear, followed by another, slightly softer bang made by the door shutting itself.

"Missed him by that much," George muttered ruefully. Then he leaned his forehead against hers. "Get dressed. We will continue this 'discussion' later." He stepped away, opened the door just enough to squeeze through, then shut it tightly again.

Bewildered and mortified, Annie quickly began to replace George's Hogwarts uniform back on its hangers and into the closet. As she crept out of the room, carrying the now empty laundry baskets, she noticed a brand new black mark on the wall near the door, still smoldering slightly.

Annie spent the remaining hour of the afternoon in the kitchen. Her mind bounced back and forth between burning anticipation for the night to come to abject mortification about that afternoon. She begged Molly to let her help with dinner – anything for the sake of distraction.

Molly finally agreed to let her chop vegetables. It was a far more welcome way to occupy her thoughts, Annie reckoned. Only when Molly cleared her throat did Annie realize she had practically diced the vegetables into puree.

"A bit preoccupied, are we?" Molly asked.

"Erm, yes. Sorry about that," Annie mumbled, wishing she could crawl out of her skin at this point.

"No worries," Molly said as she scraped them into a large pot. "We'll have soup instead of a pie." After a short pause, she continued. "Worried about tomorrow, dear?"

Annie nodded, thankful for the opportunity to tell a half-truth instead of a bald-faced lie. She had indeed been worried for most of the afternoon about tomorrow's meeting with the solicitor about Gran's will – just not precisely at that moment. Annie didn't like the idea that she perhaps couldn't handle it herself, but in truth she did feel a bit at sea when it came to this legal business. She wasn't looking forward to it in the least.

"I'm sure everything will go just fine," Molly assured her.

Annie smiled her thanks.

Molly summoned two loaves of bread out of the oven and onto the table. "Let those cool a bit, then you can slice them. About an inch thick, I think, will do fine," she cautioned, recalling the vegetables and not wanting to eat breadcrumbs.

Annie promised to be more careful.

The five of them ate when Arthur arrived at home. Annie struggled to keep her mind on the meal, forcing herself to follow the casual conversation. Once the topic turned to recent events in the magical world, it was easier to pay attention.

It happened frequently as dinner wound to a finish: the Weasleys would begin discussing the latest dark portents and rumors swirling throughout the magical world. There was almost always bad news, it seemed to Annie. People were being harassed or arrested or simply disappearing outright with no explanation. New laws were being passed weekly, each more ridiculously invasive and controlling than the one before it. Less frequently, they might have news of a family friend, but never the ones they most hoped to hear from: Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

Fred and George would then rise together, heading off to do their secret broadcast with their friend Lee or deliver fresh supplies to an established cache. As worried as she always was these days when anyone left this pleasant sanctum, she also felt a glowing pride in her new family. Each was doing their part to fight against the injustices of the new ruling regime.

Often, while the boys were gone in the evenings, Annie would sit and chat with Molly and Arthur. They would usually try to cheer her, or perhaps cheer themselves, by sharing humorous stories about the Weasley children growing up. On previous nights, she'd even shared a few of her own scandalous tales of the boys' childhood misbehavior. Tonight, however, she was not in the mood.

"I think I'll turn in early," she said to excuse herself and rose from the chair to head toward Ginny's room.

Molly smiled sympathetically at her then, thinking she was still preoccupied with tomorrow's meeting with the solicitor. Annie was tired of trying to hide the real reason for her distractedness from them and went to hole up where she could obsess about it privately.

George will come to me tonight. Her stomach did a little flip as her heart raced.

Once inside, she found something unexpected on the bed. A scarlet t-shirt, soft and slightly tattered with wear, was folded and resting on the pillow. She unfolded and examined it, turning it over in her hands. The front was decorated with a dark brown sketch of a roaring lion, rearing up on its hind legs and pawing the air. On the back was a large number six, and "WEASLEY" was printed in smaller yellow letters in an arc above.

She undressed and put on her own pajama pants with the new shirt. It fit a bit snugly, but still quite comfortable in its well-worn softness. She lay down on the bed in the dark room, staring at the ceiling, waiting.

She had not quite dozed off two hours later when she heard a tiny metallic click. The door slowly and silently opened, and a dark figure crept in. "It's only me," the figure began to whisper reassuringly.

Annie leaped off the bed and launched herself into George's arms, preventing him from saying anything further. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, frantically kissing him. George stumbled toward the bed, trying to avoid making noise, while he kissed her back just as fiercely.

Her fingers clawed at the singlet he wore, hands yanked at the knot at his waist, unable to undress him fast enough to suit her madness. For a fleeting instant, she wondered if this lunacy was anything similar to what her addict mother had felt, insanely desperate for a fix. She needed him so badly, so deeply, so desperately.

Only when his warm strength enveloped her did she ever truly feel secure. Only when he sighed her name and professed how much he loved her did she feel beautiful. His pure and shining brightness was the only thing left to her worth striving for in this shitty world. All the death and danger and oppression and injustice could be forgotten for those few moments when she was close to him.

No, she wanted to be more than just close... she craved to be a part of him. To commit to memory every inch of his skin with her hands and lips and to be mapped by him in return. To take him within herself and feel the flicker of the supernatural, his glowing magic spreading through her. To give him pleasure and receive her own in kind.

He wanted her. He alone saw something within her that was worthy. He had given her his heart and his trust and his understanding and took hers in return, somehow considering it a fair exchange. She belonged to him, and he to her.

This was what they fought for. This was what it meant to love. This was what it meant to be alive.

An hour or so before dawn, they awoke. Kissing each other gently now that the worst of the gale-force desire had been spent, they spoke softly.

"Thank you for the gift. I love it," she purred. The t-shirt was the only article of clothing left between them. "How old were you when you wore this?" she asked.

"Dunno. About fourteen, I think. Maybe younger."

She huffed in surprise. "That's sick," she cried in a hushed voice. "You were my size at fourteen?"

"It's not my fault you're so bizarrely small," he teased her.

"I'm five-foot-three, which is perfectly normal. I'm not the freak in this situation."

"That's debatable, love," he teased, running his finger along her jaw line. "If I had known it was destined for this, I would have taken much better care of it," he chuckled. "On second thought, no I wouldn't. I rather like what that little hole is revealing," he added and wiggled his finger through said hole, coming up against the sensitive underside of her breast. "Perhaps it's not too late to add another rip or two...."

They kissed for several moments longer until they began to hear a few quiet creaks from the floorboards above.

"That woman wakes infernally early," sighed George.

"You never complain about the breakfast that results," Annie giggled. "In fact, your mouth is usually crammed full to bursting."

He raised an eyebrow in response, then kissed her again, gently sliding his tongue along her lips, then parting them with it. She got the joke and giggled; it was rather enjoyable to be filled to bursting.

Quiet voices now joined the occasional creaks upstairs. George growled softly as he got out of bed and dressed in his pajamas quickly. He planted one more kiss on her forehead, then whispered, "See you at breakfast," and disappeared.

She lay in bed for nearly half an hour longer, basking in the warmth that remained of him under the blanket, and pondered the day ahead.

Annie had finished her own breakfast and was sipping coffee at the table when Fred and George finally came downstairs. George sat down next to Annie and gave her a peck on the cheek – his usual behavior – keeping up appearances for his mother's benefit, she assumed.

Fred was having none of it. "Well, don't you two lovebirds look a bit tired this morning. Late night, was it?"

George gave her a wink, as if to warn her not to rise to Fred's bait. They both stoically made a show of ignoring him.

Molly returned to the table from the sink. "Don't be silly, Fred. Annie turned in early last night before you lot got home," she answered him. "Still worried about the meeting today, then, dear?"

"Yes, a little," she replied with perfect honesty.

But Fred wasn't put off that easily. When Molly turned back toward the sink, Fred grinned malevolently at Annie and George. "Lovely muffins, Mum," he oiled sweetly while pumping one finger into his other fist, nodding knowingly and sneering.

Annie absently scratched her nose with her first two fingers for Fred's benefit. George drew one finger slowly across his neck, glaring balefully at his brother.

Little more than three hours later, Annie and George were seated in the solicitor's office. Richard Mason was about the same age as George's parents, Annie guessed – balding and quite portly. His manner was more business-like than friendly, but in an honest way, which was reassuring.

"Miss Jones, are you aware that you are named as the sole heir to Meredith Griffin Jones' estate?"

"I suspected as much. She was my grandmother."

"Please accept my condolences for your loss, Miss Jones." After the briefest of pauses, he continued, "There are no other family members, no matter how distantly related, that you anticipate would attempt to contest this decision?"

"No. No one else. It was just Gran and me, my whole life."

"Good." The lawyer nodded. "That will make this even simpler. Miss Jones, your grandmother's will is nearly twenty years old and has been unchanged since then. Usually, this sort of situation would present no end of problems. This particular testament, however, was written by my own father, who I am given to understand was a very good friend of your grandparents. It is simple, straightforward, and virtually uncontestable. Job well done, if I may say so myself."

He smiled briefly at the couple seated before him before continuing. "The will stipulates that a trust would be formed in the event that your guardian, Meredith Jones, died before you came of legal age. This clause is now moot as of your eighteenth birthday, which was... let me see... nearly two years ago.

"Your grandmother has left you the title to her house and land, which, at the time of her death, was held solely in her name, entirely free and clear of any debt or lien. In short, this means that you may keep or dispose of the property as you please. Further, there is a tidy sum set aside as your personal inheritance. Not a vast amount, by any means, but certainly respectable."

Mason handed her a document listing her grandmother's assets and their worth. Annie scanned it quickly, becoming alarmed by the growing sums as her eyes proceeded down the paper. They'd never wanted for anything, despite the fact they'd always lived frugally, but Annie'd had no idea of the money her grandmother had managed to put by.

"I understand your grandmother spent some time in hospital before her passing?" Mason didn't wait for her answer, but pressed on. "There's more than enough here to cover that as well as any other remaining expenses. I anticipate the money will be released for transfer to your account within the month. And that appears to be the whole of it. Do you have any questions, Miss Jones?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered in a quiet voice.

"Well, if you think of any later on, please don't hesitate to ring. We have a stack of documents for you to sign now before you leave today."

George gently squeezed her shoulders as they rose to leave a while later. The solicitor hadn't been kidding about the stack of paper; her left hand was cramped from signing her name what felt like nearly fifty times at least.

As they walked out of the office, Annie couldn't help thinking this was all just as her Gran had planned it, ever since Annie had been born. Gran had spent her final twenty years, Annie's entire existence, preparing her for this: for life without her. All the childhood lessons in cooking and gardening, every household chore she ever did, every recipe she ever learned, every errand, all were for the sole purpose of teaching her self-sufficiency, leading to this inevitable moment.

She was on her own.

George drove Annie home to the Burrow in silence. She didn't even glance at her inheritance as they passed by on the way out of town.

*

Annie awoke this morning, like she had every morning for the past three weeks, next to George. Every night, he would pop into her bedroom – well, technically it was still Ginny's – after his parents had retired for the night. It was like she had passed through a kind of hell – those autumn months of misery behind her – and now resided blissfully in paradise. She stretched, then curled herself around his warmth.

"Happy birthday, by the way," he said as he kissed her good morning.

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Really? Is it the twenty-ninth already?"

"You are now the ripe old age of twenty years," George nodded sleepily while yawning.

She smiled as they kissed again. Slowly, a thought began to tickle her brain, drawing her attention away from George. Twenty years old. February twenty-ninth. Something wasn't quite right. She began to tap on George's chest with her fingers.

"Twenty isn't that old, Annie," he teased her. "Do you need to borrow my fingers to help you count it up? Although, come to think of it, you probably are too old for me now, a mere teenager yet...."

"Shh. I'm thinking," she said distractedly.

"I can tell that by the wisps of smoke drifting out your ears," he chuckled.

Annie didn't respond to his teasing. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape. She couldn't escape the conclusion any longer. The numbers didn't lie.

"What is it?" George demanded, worried now.

"I'm late," she barely whispered.

"For what?" asked George, now completely at a loss. He cast about, trying to figure out the mystery. Late? Counting? Her birthday? Then a light began to dawn.

Oh.

The night sky had been overcast every night for a week; it was no wonder they hadn't noticed the growing light of the moon. Annie's hand was covering her mouth, her face still gobsmacked.

He was quiet for a few moments more before he spoke again. "I thought you were taking a pill for that?" he whispered gently.

"I forgot!" Annie's eyes closed as she smacked her forehead. "Everything went haywire after the attack.... All my things still back at the house.... I didn't notice...." That the pills weren't here, she let the thought fade away unspoken. She wasn't blaming George for leaving them behind in the bedside table. She had taken the responsibility for birth control much earlier in the relationship and clearly just dropped the ball in truly spectacular fashion.

"George, I'm so sorry! So stupid!"

"Stop it," he urged her. He didn't much care for her tone of voice. Or her ridiculous overreaction. "Let's not rush into any conclusions. Are you sure? Really sure?"

She was sure as she could possibly be. She had never been a day late in her adult life. And now, as of February twenty-ninth, she was three days past due. But George did have a point: things had been pretty stressful recently. Maybe she was getting worked up over nothing. Unlikely, but....

"Pretty sure," she still had to admit. "I can take a test and find out for sure."

"A test?" he asked curiously.

She nodded her head distractedly. She would have to explain that bit to him later. "I need to nip over to the chemist in town – the sooner the better. No, scratch that. Not in Ottery. Better head somewhere else," she said, thinking better of the plan. This was definitely not a purchase to be made in the tongue-wagging burg that was Ottery St. Catchpole.

George nodded slowly, lost in his own thoughts.

Annie closed her eyes, pondering the possibilities, the options, before them. How much more complicated could this get? she wondered, wanting to slap herself once more. Not only were they secretly married, sneaking around to be together behind his parents' backs, but now she might be... was almost certainly, if she was honest with herself....

Not to mention the larger political ramifications she preferred not to consider. They had always known their children would be considered half-bloods in his world, born to a blood traitor and a Muggle – but it had always seemed like nothing more than a joke before. Something off in the misty, distant future. Now, though.... Annie cringed.

"Relax, will you?" he interrupted her thoughts. "It's not so bad, really. Kinda cool, actually."

She shot him a disbelieving look. How was he not in a panic about this?

He gave her a small but encouraging smile, reading her expression. "It's a bit unexpected, sure, but...." He shrugged. Then he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

Annie turned to look him straight in the eye. "You're not just saying that because I'm freaking out? Attempting to talk me down from my hysterical ledge?" she asked.

"Think about it," he said, stroking her bed-crazy curls away from her face. "We said before that we both wanted kids. Maybe lots. Looks like it'll just be a little sooner rather than later," George chuckled.

"I can't believe you're so calm about this," she said, shaking her head in genuine bafflement.

"It's a big deal, I know. But there's no point in going mental about it. If it's meant to be, well, then...." He shrugged again, then kissed her once more, on the lips this time. "Plus, this pretty much proves I'm a stud, doesn't it?" he said with a sly smile.

She had to laugh out loud at that one.

"Not that funny," he warned her, hushing her.

"Okay, then. You get to tell your mother."

Two hours later, Molly had given them a stern look; she wasn't buying their excuse to get out of the house together this morning. Annie couldn't blame her either – it was weak. A forgotten paper to sign at the solicitors? That was the best she could come up with? Certainly not up to Annie's usual standard of deceit – which had been vastly overworked lately, much to her chagrin.

But here they now stood in front of a dizzying array of small boxes promising both speed and accuracy. George glanced up and down the aisle to confirm no one was looking, then surreptitiously picked up one of the boxes. His face grew slightly dumbfounded once he had read enough to understand the gist of how the thing was operated. He looked at Annie and shrugged.

Annie swallowed her growing discomfort and grabbed three different boxes at random off the shelf. After marching straight up to the counter, eyes on the floor, she refused to look at the cashier as she paid for them. She instead hazarded a glance at George, who pulled a comical face at her. She couldn't help it and laughed out loud.

Dear George, she thought as she thanked her lucky stars once again for him.

They stood outside the shop for a moment while Annie scanned the street. She spotted a small café that was open and headed for it, dragging George by the hand behind her.

"You're hungry!? At a time like this!?" George asked incredulously.

"Of course not, idiot!" She rolled her eyes when his confused look persisted. She shook the plastic bag, rustling its contents. "You want all this evidence at your house where your mother can find it?"

George's face looked stricken at the thought. "Excellent point. You know, it really is a comfort to know I can always count on you for a devious plan," he answered with a wink.

Annie made a beeline for the café's restroom and spent the next ten minutes alone there. When she finally came out, she glanced around, looking for George. In her haste to get to a toilet, she hadn't noticed where he'd sat down.

She found him seated at a small table, head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He might have been asleep, his face looked so completely unperturbed. Meanwhile, Annie thought she might throw up with anxiety if her head didn't explode first. How does he do it? she marveled.

George opened his eyes when she sat down next to him. He pushed a glass of water across the table toward her, and she gratefully drank it down.

"Well?" he asked.

Annie sighed. "It's official. You knocked me up."

George was silent for only a moment. A grin spread across his face and he pulled her into a crushing embrace, nearly knocking the glass off the table. "Brilliant," he whispered into her ear. "Fucking brilliant!"

Annie laughed despite her shock at his consistent, inexplicably positive reactions to the discoveries of the day. "You could say that, yes. I must admit you usually are," she teased.

George laughed out loud at her joke, pleased to hear that her tense mood was easing. Annie hushed him, embarrassed that the waiter was now looking at them curiously.

"I just hope you can convince your parents it's so brilliant," she added.

"They'll be thrilled," he assured her. "Well, maybe not initially, it's true..." he admitted when she looked at him skeptically. "But I'm thinking more long-term."

They sat quietly for a minute, foreheads pressed together, letting the revelation sink in. A baby.

"Let's not tell anyone right away," he suggested in a low voice. "Don't get me wrong: I'm not afraid to tell them, or anything...."

"You should be," she corrected him.

He shook his head, dismissing her concerns. "I just want to... enjoy it, for a while... just the two of us. Does that make any sense?"

Annie nodded, understanding him perfectly. Just like their friendship, their love, and their marriage had been, this was something private and special for the two of them to cherish. It was just an inconvenient coincidence that each of those precious things was also forbidden or illegal in the society at large.

"We can't wait too long," she warned him. "It will be better if we tell everyone before they start to guess it themselves. I don't want them to think we're hiding something we think we should ashamed of."

George nodded in agreement. "Soon," he promised.

*

Two weeks later, as the house began to stir in the morning, George strongly advised his brother to make himself scarce for the day.

"It's likely to hit the fan, mate. Fair warning – save yourself."

"You're telling them? Today?" Fred asked.

George nodded, even though Fred only knew half the Dungbomb about to be dropped. "I'm fairly certain Dad has guessed already," he said. Again, only a half-truth. "No matter. We're both sick of sneaking around." The last line was literally true for poor Annie; he'd heard her retching in the loo that morning and had hastily cast a Silencing Charm on the door.

Fred shrugged. "Good luck, then. See you later... if you're not both out on your connubial arses, that is."

"Thanks."

George left his room and headed to Ginny's. He found Annie sitting on the bed, staring nervously at the opposite wall, hands resting on her knees. He sat down next to her, took her face in his hands and gazed into her violet eyes, attempting to exude confidence. Or perhaps draw some from her, if she had a bit to spare.

Annie reached up, grasping his hands in her own. She felt then that his wedding ring had been returned to its proper place on his left hand. She gave him a tiny nod of agreement, indicating she was ready, as well.

George fished the gold chain from under her collar with his finger. He unclasped it, letting the ring fall into his palm. As he held her left hand, he slid the ring onto her finger, just like he had done at their wedding almost three months ago. It had not been there since the morning before Meredith's funeral.

"Let's go."

Beware the Ides of March. The phrase had repeated itself in Annie's mind throughout the morning. She couldn't avoid the fact that this day certainly held the potential for disaster. She hoped they'd fare a bit better than old Julius Caesar had done.

Annie had wondered all night long if her courage would fail her today. She was pleased when she found, as she sat next to George, facing his parents, that she instead felt eager to make the declaration, for the subterfuge to finally end. But she had agreed to let George lead the conversation – they were his parents, after all. She smiled at him with encouragement as he took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

"Mum, Dad... you know that Annie and I are... well, we love each other. There's no one else for me – for either of us – ever. So, that being said, we want you to know... erm...."

"Spit it out already, George. You're making me nervous," Molly said with a forced smile and furrowed brow.

He took another deep breath. "Annie and I decided to get married."

Molly smiled more genuinely this time. "You're getting married. Well, that's no big surprise, dear. Your father and I have been pretty much expecting something like this for a while now." She turned to smile at her husband.

"Wonderful news, of course," offered Arthur cautiously. As if this was not quite what he had been expecting to hear.

George's face registered shock at his mother's calm reaction to the news. Annie realized he had missed the crucial change in verb tense between what he had said and what his mother had heard.

Annie nervously cleared her throat. "Not getting married, Molly. We are married," she explained as gently and in as soothing a voice as she could muster.

Immediately, George also realized the misunderstanding. He placed Annie's left hand on the table in front of them all and rested his own above hers as he held it gently.

Molly's face fell from a pleased smile, paused briefly at disappointment, and landed finally at anger as she glared at the wedding bands on each hand.

"George!" she gasped. "How could you? Of all the stupid, selfish stunts! And you, Annie? I trusted you! Welcomed you into my home! Is this what you did when you lot snuck out two weeks ago? Having a good laugh now, are you?" she cried in fury.

"Molly! Molly!" Arthur had to repeat her name several times before she was quiet.

"I'll grant you there's a long list of stupid things I've done, but not this!" George was on his feet now, shouting back at her. "Annie and I belong together, and you know it! Plus, I think you're being a bit hypocritical, Mum, seeing you and Dad DID EXACTLY THE SAME THING!"

"George! Sit down! I will not allow you to shout at your mother in my house," commanded Arthur. "Everyone please calm down," he urged.

Annie silently surveyed the table. George and Molly were glaring at each other. Arthur held his head in his hands, leaning on the table. She found it ironic, with her temper being what it was, that of all the people at the table now, she was the calmest one.

Annie reached into her pocket and pulled out a photo. She set it on the table and turned it to face Molly. It was their wedding portrait: Fred, George, and Annie were all leaning toward Meredith, who was lying on a hospital bed, looking frail and ill, but beaming in obvious pleasure.

Molly's angry countenance began to soften as she gazed at the picture, its import registering. Annie dropped her gaze to stare at the table and began to speak softly.

"This was taken Christmas night. That morning, by some miracle, Gran regained consciousness. That's exactly the word the doctor used: miraculous. She told me not to expect it to last long.

"I had been in the doorway talking to her – the doctor. Gran must have thought I had stepped out; that she was alone with George. He was there with me every moment of that whole horrible time, right by my side, you know. I heard Gran tell him that she knew we were meant for each other, just like she and my grandfather had been. She told him she was happy for us, glad we had each other, grateful he would be there for me after...." Her voice cracked.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, then pressed on. "She told him her only regret was that she wouldn't see our wedding."

Annie then looked directly into Molly's now tear-filled eyes. "I know you're upset with us, and you have every right to be. But we weren't being selfish. George granted my grandmother's dying wish by marrying me that day in her hospital room."

"You make it sound like it was all for Meredith," George spoke in a rough voice that was choked with emotion. "The wedding was for your Gran. The marriage is for me."

Annie was overcome by his simple, heartfelt declaration. She threw her arms around George, who held her tightly for several minutes. It was as if they were completely alone, instead of in the middle of the tense confrontation they were actually in. They didn't let go of each other until Molly broke the silence.

"George, Annie, I'm so sorry," Molly spoke quietly but with strong emotion. "Please forgive me – the horrid things I said. My temper gets the better of me at times."

George released Annie from their embrace but kept hold of her hand. He nodded in silent forgiveness toward his mother.

"Of course," Annie reassured her, knowing the feeling well herself.

"And as disappointed as I am to have missed it, I can understand now why you did what you did. I'm glad your Gran got to see you settled, and I'm sure that made things much easier on her," Molly added, reaching out for Annie's other hand.

Annie smiled at her new mother-in-law, who in just a few short months had been more of a mother to Annie than her own had ever been. "Thank you, Molly. I think it did. She was so happy that night, as you can see," she said through her tears.

"Well, it seems congratulations are in order, then, you two. Welcome to the family, dear Annie!" Arthur spoke in a calm, cheerful voice that was a welcome sound, breaking apart the last remnants of tension.

Everyone around the table smiled, chuckled and wiped their tears as they took turns hugging each other.

"There's just one more thing," added George a few moments later, slyly smiling at Annie as everyone resumed their seats.

"Yes, just a little thing," she added, playing on his joke and bashfully smiling.

"You could even say it was tiny." George laughed at his own cleverness.

"Miniscule," Annie said, before giggles started to take over.

"All right, you two. Enough," warned Molly with a smile.

"Right. See, Annie and I... I mean we... well, technically just Annie, I suppose, but I was definitely involved...."

"George?" Molly's voice was getting exasperated.

He took a deep breath. "We're... expecting?"

Annie couldn't believe he'd just said it out loud. The look on George's face told her he felt the same way. Nothing about the entire situation seemed real to her; it was like watching a movie from within.

Molly was quiet for a moment, as if waiting for him to complete the sentence. "Expecting what, dear?" she prompted. "If you wanted presents, you should've thought of that before you eloped," she teased them.

George and Annie found the confused looks on his parents' faces amusingly uncomfortable, but couldn't bring themselves to speak any plainer, and shrugged at each other instead.

"Oh, you must mean a room of your own. Of course. Why not take Bill's old room – Ginny will be home for Easter soon anyway," Molly offered.

"Molly!" Arthur gasped, reaching the correct conclusion before his wife, "They're...."

"Going to have a baby, yes," Annie completed her father-in-law's sentence. "I'm pregnant." She nearly stuttered saying the word.

After a moment of surprise, Molly shot her husband an I-told-you-so look, then turned back to the couple. Annie could see a look of understanding begin to settle on her face. "How far along are you?" she asked carefully but without obvious anger.

"MUM!" George barked. Annie saw him bristle at his mother's implication.

"Only four weeks, Molly," Annie answered pointedly. It was important to her that everyone be perfectly clear: this baby was conceived within her marriage to George. She would never saddle her own child with the challenges she had faced growing up. And further, she wanted to assure Molly that she had not forced George into marrying her by getting pregnant. She didn't necessarily blame her for jumping to that conclusion but still wanted her mother-in-law to understand the wrongness of her assumptions.

"I'm going to be a grandpa!" exclaimed Arthur. "George! Annie! How wonderful. Truly!"

Annie was relieved he sported a genuinely happy expression. Molly's eyes were beginning to sparkle with happiness and anticipation as well. Annie could tell she was relieved to know that, despite the seeming suddenness of the marriage, all was still as it should be. Annie knew Molly liked her; she'd often told her she was a good match for her son, despite the dire consequences they faced if they were found out. She understood the unfairness of the fact they had to hide their love in the first place.

Molly smiled and patted her husband's hand. "It will be so nice to have a baby in the house again after so long, won't it?"