Adrift

Author's Note: And now, dear readers, we leave canon behind us altogether. The rest of my story does mesh with the Infamous Epilogue, but do not look for the Golden Trio to figure very heavily in it. And it may interest you to know that, as of the next chapter (#40), we are only halfway done! For anyone who's seen/read the story on the other archives, there are added scenes and whole new chapters coming up for you to enjoy here on the TPP version (not to mention that, due to the fabulous admins here, the story's just all-around BETTER!). Thanks so much to all of you who continue to reward me with reviews – I appreciate it more than you'll ever know!

Chapter 39: Adrift

May 1998

Ginny came tearing though the house and burst through the door to the twins' work room, nearly startling Annie off the stool she was perched on. "The coin!" she cried. "It's starting! At Hogwarts!"

"What?" her brothers demanded in unison.

"The battle! Harry's there.... Come on!"

Fred immediately tore after his sister as she turned and ran off the way she'd come. George paused on his way after his siblings to grab Annie, kiss her briefly, and reassure her that they would be back soon.

Annie heard two quiet pops, then silence. They were gone.

Annie proceeded to endure the worst hours of her life. It surprised her to find that this waiting could be so much worse than all the waiting she had been forced to endure in the hospital for her grandmother's sake. It was absolute torture, perhaps because this time the outcome was unknown.

Her anxiety completely blocked out everything else. She didn't hear a word Muriel said to her the whole time the Weasleys – her entire family now – were gone. For hours on end, as day turned to night and night into dawn, she sat mutely in a chair by the fireplace, eyes closed, visualizing protective bubble-like shields around each and every one of their precious ginger heads. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for them to return.

Ragged and worn, the Weasleys emerged from the hearth slowly and silently the next day. Annie's joy and relief were instantaneous and overwhelming when George finally came back to her. She ran to him, and he embraced her, crushing the breath from her body. But Annie didn't mind; his arms around her were the only thing that mattered. The world was whole again and began to spin on its axis once more.

Then the spell was broken. A crushing agony followed upon hearing Molly's wail of pain, watching George's face crumple, then sob, as he told her the news: Fred was gone.

Fred.

Glorious, ridiculous, infuriating, reckless, handsome, brave, precious Fred.

Annie had been gutted by the sharpest blade ever forged, expertly wielded to leave a maximum of ragged, bloody edges to the wound. George's rent face swam before her eyes. Her own mangled heart threatened to choke her.

Fred!

*

The following week passed in a numb silence. George and Annie retreated from the world, from their family, and folded themselves into a tiny, protected space. They clung to each other bodily like life preservers, rarely breaking physical contact. Emotionally, however, they were adrift – almost out of sight of one another, each only catching glimpses of the other as the waves tossed them, battered them, and periodically submerged them.

They lacked the strength for anything but the most basic functions. Someone brought them food; they did not know who it was. Plates of it just appeared – to them it seemed at random – on a bedside table. Annie forced herself to eat for the baby's sake.

A part of her mind desperately wanted to run, to chase the comfort of control, but even that was out of the question. Even if she could somehow summon the strength to move, she had been forbidden to run while she was pregnant. She was trapped in this room, anchored to this bed, struggling to keep them both afloat.

For George was sinking like a dead weight. He did not speak – only wept silently. He did not rest when he slept – only dreamt about terrors that woke him, screaming and shaking. He did not hold Annie tenderly – only clutched at her frantically whenever he felt her move.

So it was a hundred times harder: the taming of this grief. The hardest thing she had ever done in her life. She wasn't sure she had the strength to wrestle with a monster of this size. It was so much larger than any sadness she had felt before, fed not only by her own heartbreak, but gorged as well on the agony of witnessing the bottomless pit that was George's devastation.

But somewhere, deep inside, she did find a source of strength. Like a tiny, distant point of light might appear to someone trapped in a cave, she noticed it, then later was slowly able connect with it by crawling forward on her hands and knees. She suspected she knew where it came from; she felt incrementally stronger whenever she rested her hands on her little bump of a belly.

Tapping into this reserve, she began to battle the monster. As the hours, then days passed, more and more pieces of the monster were hacked apart and locked away. Each day it was shrinking, becoming slightly more manageable.

One morning, she awoke to feel she could finally peek outside the little protective shell, face the family and at last acknowledge them. She left George in their bed, sleeping peacefully for once (she strongly suspected the contents of the little cobalt blue bottle on the nightstand were responsible), to wander the house.

Each person she met with was kind and careful, treating her like a fragile object. She indeed felt as though she was made of glass, but each interaction somehow strengthened that glass, reinforcing it. Throughout the day, she pieced together the story of the battle: both the heroism and the loss. She sensed each time that the act of telling the tale helped the storyteller to heal as much as it helped herself to know the truth.

She discovered a wonderful thing had happened: Percy had reunited with the rest of the family during the battle, and she met her brother-in-law for the first time. He had been there, had fought alongside Fred, had seen what had happened to him firsthand. His was the hardest story to hear.

They had won, at least. She learned that the enemy had been defeated once and for all, never to come back again this time. Harry had destroyed Voldemort, and the Order had vanquished the majority of Death Eaters, the remaining few to be hunted down and brought to justice later. Annie did feel some modicum of relief with that knowledge: at least the sacrifices were not entirely in vain. She was far from prepared to believe they were worth it, however. How could any success justify the loss of so many? Of Fred, especially?

She also learned that it had been Molly, over the past fortnight, who had cared for George and herself. That afternoon, as the sun set and twilight descended, she sat with Molly on the sofa before the crackling fire, feeling a little guilty for basking in the comforting warmth and kindness that was her mother-in-law but greedily lapping it up anyway.

Annie marveled at her strength in the face of this catastrophe, her courage to persevere. How did a real mother like Molly survive the loss of a child? she wondered. The woman who had given birth to Annie didn't even deserve the title of mother in comparison, she reckoned.

Molly seemed to read her mind, or perhaps it was somehow written on her face. She smiled at Annie, her face all at once full of love and sadness and hope. Looking her straight in the eye, holding both of Annie's hands in hers, she spoke.

"A mother always lives for her children, you know. Even if...." Molly paused to steel herself with a deep breath. "Even if she loses one, she must live for the rest. And that's why I'm asking you, Annie... one mother to another... for help. For George."

Annie nodded as she wiped the tears spilling down her own cheeks and promised to do what she could. That night, as she held George in her arms, she engaged the monster once again, determined it would be for the last time. She called on the tiny, shining light within her for strength.

Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, it was done. Soaked with sweat and tears, she had subdued the monster not within the vault, where her other hurts and sadnesses were imprisoned, but someplace new. There was now an iron cage within her that contained her grief for Fred. She could still hear the monster rattle the bars, reminding her of its presence, but even this disturbance began to decrease in frequency and intensity. It no longer ruled her mind, nor held her soul captive.

She had won.

*

"George, wake up."

He obeyed her by opening his eyes, nothing more.

"Come down with me to breakfast."

"Not hungry," he mumbled.

"You haven't eaten since noon yesterday," she countered.

No answer. No movement.

Annie persisted. "I want you to get out of bed. Eat something. Shower and get dressed."

"Why?" His voice didn't sound curious in the least. It was just something one said in response to a request one had no intention of complying with.

"Today is our appointment for the sonogram," she explained.

His brow furrowed, as if trying to make sense of the foreign language she was speaking in.

"You promised me you would go. I don't want to go alone." They had made the appointment weeks ago, before.... But Annie shut the door on the direction that thought would take her, unable to complete it. She had to stay strong today.

George turned to look at her while he pondered this information. Annie was sitting back on her heels on the bed next to him. He reached out tentatively with one hand and placed it lightly on her belly.

That's right, she urged him silently, placing her hand on top of his while he held it there. Do it for the baby. Her plan today relied heavily on using the baby and any other instrument she could find to lever her husband up and out of bed. She would use any manipulative tool, no matter how pathetic or desperate, to get George to join the living with her at last.

She watched as his face squared itself up with determination. Yes! she cheered in her mind, willing him all the strength she could spare.

"Okay. Let's go," he said, slowly sitting up and rubbing his face with his palms.

The day was warm and sunny. They rolled down the windows of the truck as they drove into town to the doctor's office. Casually, they discussed what to expect at the appointment.

George parked under the shade of a large tree. They had arrived more than an hour early and now had time to spare. "Fancy a stroll?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded, heartened he was making so much of an effort. As they walked hand in hand through the town, Annie was the first to break the silence.

"George, I want us to think about moving out of your parents' house."

She braced herself, unsure what his response would be to this: what must be a bombshell to him. They had never discussed the idea before; they had never had the chance to consider the option until now. She prayed he would listen to her argument but feared he might get angry with her for even suggesting it. Maybe he wanted to stay there to feel close to the family. Close to....

"Okay..." he said, cautiously acknowledging her suggestion. His tone told her that he was indeed listening, waiting for more of an explanation. Like perhaps he was even willing to entertain the notion.

It caught her by surprise – his reasonableness, his possible openness to the idea. Momentarily thrown for a loop, she recovered quickly and pressed on.

"When Gran died, and I went back to the house – living there without her but surrounded by... well, everything... it was like I couldn't... just... get a good breath, even... the memories were so thick. Don't get me wrong; I didn't want to lose any of them. But I couldn't handle them all at once like that, you know? All around me, every single object in that house was so full of Gran. Taken individually, each thing was a little sad, yet bearable, and still something to treasure. But as a whole, all together, it was just too much weight. It was crushing me. I was starting to think I had to get out... for good... by the time when, well... you remember... the attack. What I'm trying to say is – I was ready to leave when you asked me to."

She held her breath, wondering if there was the slightest chance he might be feeling the same way right now.

"I think I know what you mean," George offered after considering what she had said for a short while. "Every night for at least a week now, I've fallen asleep telling myself that tomorrow I'd get up out of that bloody bed. But then, morning would come... and I just couldn't. It's pathetic, and I hate that I've been so weak about it. And then this morning, when you asked me to come, it was so hard... to move. Everything back there is so... like you said: thick and heavy. But now, out here in the sun, walking with you, it is a little lighter, a little easier to bear," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze.

She nodded and brought his hand up to her lips for a kiss. That was enough, for now – to know that he would think about it. They didn't speak any more as they walked toward the doctor's office and went inside.

A nurse led them into a small room. There was a hospital-like bed next to a large machine with a monitor. Its lights were blinking and they could hear it emitting a whirring sound.

"Get a load of that thing. Dad would love this place," George commented as he surveyed the number of instruments and electrical cords fanning from the outlets on the wall.

Annie chuckled in agreement, cheered by his attempt at enthusiasm. The doctor entered at that moment, and after a brief but friendly greeting, he folded Annie's shirt above her belly and began the examination. First, he measured from her pelvic bone to the top of her belly where it began to bulge.

"Hmm," he muttered. "Are you sure about the date of your last menstruation?"

"Pretty sure," answered Annie. Things had been a bit hairy at that time, she had to admit. It was possible she might be off by a day or two.

Then he began to poke and prod around her belly with his hands, as if searching for something. His face was intent with concentration. He paused with his hands at opposite points from each other, as if they had found an axis running through her belly just slightly skewed from top to bottom. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side as he focused a few more prods in those two areas alone. Before she could get a chance to ask him if anything was wrong, he smiled and took his leave, promising to send in the sonogram technician directly.

"What was that all about?" George wondered aloud.

He, too, must have noticed the look on the doctor's face. Annie could only shrug. They only had a minute to wonder to themselves before a new lady in a white lab coat entered. She pressed several buttons, bringing the large machine to life, smiling and chatting mindlessly.

"So, what exactly does this thing do?" George asked her in a tone that sounded almost like genuine curiosity. It might have fooled someone who didn't know him better, Annie thought.

"Oh, well, it uses sound waves to see inside the womb," she explained as she squirted clear goo onto Annie's bare belly. Annie wrinkled her nose as the woman began to spread it around her skin. "This wand here," she said as she indicated the gadget in her hand, "sends sound waves into the body. The waves bounce off the tissues inside and then get collected by the wand again."

Annie smiled wryly upon hearing George snort at the woman's use of the word wand.

"The computer uses the information to make a picture up here," the woman said, pointing at the screen with her finger.

Annie and George both peered intently at the screen but were unable to make any sense of the garbled and quickly moving picture.

"Hmm," said the technician, mimicking the doctor's previous perplexed tone. A pause of a few minutes followed. "Let's just make absolutely sure..." she mumbled to herself.

George nervously reached out for Annie's hand. Both of them worried the same thought: was something indeed wrong?

Several more minutes passed as the woman worked silently, directing the device in her hand, pressing buttons. Finally, just as Annie thought she might scream with anxiety, the woman spoke directly to them.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley... congratulations! You're having twins! Everything looks just fine.... See a head here, and then, down here, another one? Ten fingers, ten toes – well, make that twenty," she chuckled at her own joke.

Stunned silence answered her.

"Surprised, are you?" she asked.

"To say the least," stuttered Annie, finally able to speak. She turned to George with wide eyes and a smile spreading over her face. She was thrilled to find he was grinning, too.

"Really does run in the family, I suppose," he offered with a tiny shrug.

Annie was overjoyed, both by the news and by George's pleased reaction. Excitement ran through her like she was electrically wired. The word repeated itself in her mind over and over: twins! There would be two new little ones to love instead of just one!

They left the office a short while later, both still in a bit of shock. The gloom of earlier that morning had almost completely dissipated, so diluted had it become by all the happy anticipation. George and Annie climbed back into the truck. But instead of heading back the way they had come, George headed off in a different direction.

"Where are we going?" asked Annie.

"Shopping. You need some new clothes." He smiled and turned to her. "At this rate, you'll have outgrown of all my shirts by next month at the latest."

She was indeed wearing one of George's shirts. All of hers had already grown too small to wear, not to mention the discomfort of wearing her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, waist tenuously held together with rubber bands. George's shirt was still too long and too wide everywhere on her body except in the middle, where it hugged her growing waist rather more snugly. She laughed out loud, patting it.

The sun was setting as they pulled up the lane and parked the truck in front of the Burrow. Leaving their packages in the back, they walked hand in hand out through the garden, neither of them willing to break the wonderful, happy spell of the afternoon yet by going back inside the house. As they stood at the fence, gazing out across the fields and trees, George wrapped his arms around Annie from behind, resting his hands on her swollen belly, and she leaned back into his embrace.

"Where do you think we should go?" he asked, referring to their earlier conversation for the first time since that morning.

She twisted around and looked up at him as she answered. "I don't think we'd have to go far. I wouldn't want to, anyway."

"I'll speak to Dad tomorrow," he said in a strong, clear voice; she recognized the determination ringing through.

He bent to kiss her gently. Some of the familiar, hot feeling – the wanting – began to return for them both during the kiss, which slowly built into something far more passionate than it had begun. They were both startled when Molly called them inside for dinner.

George and Annie shared the happy news of the babies with the family at dinner. George's brothers, all of them now either living at the Burrow or returning regularly for meals, each thumped his shoulders and shook his hand in congratulations. Annie showed off the picture given to them by the technician, directing Molly and Arthur through a tour of the important details: head number one here, head number two there, et cetera. His mother practically took flight, fluttering about the room in excitement, offering advice and encouragement to Annie for what was to come, claiming she had suspected twins all along.

That evening, George quietly watched Annie interacting with his family as they surrounded them both. Had there really been a time when she had not been a part of it? She fit in with them seamlessly now, smiling and laughing. Like she had always belonged.

He found she was like something new to him, all over again. Still his Annie, but also changing into something... more. Physically, of course, she was rounder, even softer than before. Her lips were slightly plumper, and her belly, hips – all her curves were enhanced. He had heard the cliché that a pregnant woman glowed, but had been distinctly unprepared for the new light that was in her violet eyes, her smile, her laugh tonight. How could his perfect Annie have improved? If he hadn't seen it for himself, he would have sworn it would have been impossible.

Yet it was real. All of it. He had seen them with his own eyes this morning: twins were growing inside Annie. His children. His wife. His family.

For a rare moment, he pulled his stare away from Annie and accidentally caught his father's eye. Arthur was gazing back at him with a tiny, knowing smile on his face. He nodded slightly and George looked away, unsure of how to respond, unwilling to share his epiphany with anyone else. His father would, of course, have known exactly how he was feeling. George felt a new confidence bloom within himself, thinking about talking to him tomorrow about his and Annie's new plans.

She was right, of course. They needed to do something: to get out, to move on. It was time, at last, for them to start their own life together. No reason left to stay – every reason now to go. The world outside his childhood home was calling. It was time to stop wallowing in the past. Their future beckoned.

George stood up and pulled Annie up from the sofa with him. They all said goodnight to one another – everyone else decided to turn in at the same time. As the rest of the family trooped further up the stairs, George led Annie back to the room they had shared ever since telling his parents they were married. It had seemed so dark and oppressive that morning. It was still dark, but the darkness was a bit softer, warmer, more welcoming now.

George sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Annie close. Her belly was sandwiched awkwardly between them as they kissed, making her giggle. She pulled off first his shirt, followed by her own, then pushed his shoulders back until he was lying on the bed. She crawled up after him, her knees straddling his waist, and bent over to kiss him.

They made love for the first time in weeks. He couldn't bring himself to recall the last time – or, in fact, any of the times before the battle, before the loss. But he remembered enough to recognize this was different: even more meaningful, if such a thing were possible. The tender care they took with each other was no less passionate for what it lacked in wild abandon. It might have even been more so.