Domestic Quest

Chapter 40: Domestic Quest

Summer 1998

George squeezed Annie's hand. "Ready?" he asked her, smiling with a forced eagerness she knew he did not feel.

She appreciated the effort and sentiment behind the attempt all the same. "Absolutely," she replied, hoping her own artificial cheerfulness sounded more convincing than his had done.

This would be the third vacant magical domicile they had seen that week. In an attempt to get his bearings, George looked carefully once more at the photo that had accompanied the letter the agent had sent along with a description of the place. It looks like a pleasant enough spot in the snap, Annie figured as she looked over his shoulder.

"All right, then – I think I've got it. Here we go," he warned her, holding her hand tightly.

For an instant, they were plunged into the all-too-familiar black abyss, then popped back into being in the front yard of the little house. Annie took in the sight of it and supposed it looked charming – if you went for medieval peasant farmstead, that is. Probably when it was built, she thought.

The property agent appeared in front of them a few moments later. "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.... Welcome!" he gushed, shaking their hands. "Lovely little place, isn't it? Such a pity about the family, though. Such a tragedy! I suppose that's all too common a situation these days. Still, even more so for the Diggorys, eh?"

George nodded silently, reluctantly, avoiding any eye contact with the chatty agent. Diggory – the name rang a bell for Annie. Where had she heard it before?

"You're a young chap yourself, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps you knew the boy? What was his name again?"

"Cedric," George replied flatly.

Now she remembered: Cedric Diggory was that poor boy who died in the Triwizard Tournament. The one murdered on the night You-Know-Who had kidnapped Harry, using him to magically create a body to harbor the evil fragment that was left of his soul. Annie shuddered at the thought of him. They had lived for so long under the dark, unnamed threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, it was easy to forget it was all finally over and the menace had been defeated for good.

"That's right!" the agent cheered. "Cedric Diggory. A right shame about the parents. Too many good wizards were lost...."

Annie wished she could think of some way to politely tell this git to shut the hell up. His chosen topic for inane chatter was defeating her whole purpose today. The other agents had been far more circumspect – perhaps they had been better informed about the Weasley family's recent history.

"Shall we see the inside?" Annie suggested. Maybe then she could shut the arse in a closet or something.

"Oh, erm, of course." He swished his wand and the ancient door creaked open on black iron hinges. "Here we are, then."

Annie led a yielding but unenthusiastic George by the hand into the house. Inside, it was dim but warm and cozy. Well, perhaps cozy was the wrong word. Cramped might have been more accurate. She gazed up at the rough-hewn ceiling beams that seemed awfully close, then reached up and touched one easily with her fingertips while remaining flat-footed.

The agent noticed her movement. "Strong, sturdy construction there, Mrs. Weasley." Either he misinterpreted her, or he was trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

She looked around, noticing George had wandered over to a doorway and was now peeking through it. "How many bedrooms?" she asked.

The agent looked carefully at her, as if considering for a moment how to respond. "Well, erm, that's a tricky question, actually," he said cryptically.

The agent directed her over to the room where George was standing in the doorway. "It's rather charming, really," the agent said with a pasted-on, crocodile smile. "Remarkable craftsmanship! They don't make them like this anymore, I assure you." He walked into the small room just off the main living area, then spread his arms wide.

Annie and George stepped into the small room. It was completely empty and the walls were lined with several sets of what looked like built-in cabinet doors. They looked at the agent in confusion. The floor space barely looked big enough to hold a full-sized bed.

The agent smiled uncomfortably, then walked over to one set of doors. He threw them open with a dramatic flourish. "Now, you don't see that every day, I'll wager. Unique, no?"

Annie's jaw dropped. Behind the doors was a completely enclosed bed. A mattress, resting on a frame about three feet off the floor, was surrounded by three solid walls. No shelves, no windows, nothing but a single sconce interrupted the perfectly smooth walls.

"We're supposed to sleep in closets?" cried George with more animation than she'd seen him muster in a long time.

The agent's smile faltered a bit. "Well, no. The closets are some of the other doors of the room here. I suppose it might take some getting used to. But it certainly is nice and dark... and quiet inside, I would assume."

George and Annie shared a look of dubious shock, wondering if the other was buying any of this. Neither had any intention of ever testing out the validity of such a statement. It was no wonder they didn't make houses like this anymore, in Annie's opinion. She took a few steps closer, peering in. As claustrophobic as a coffin in here, she thought morbidly.

"Would you care to see the kitchen now?" the agent offered, sensing he might be losing them and eager to move on.

Annie nodded and followed him back out of the sleeping quarters. George was on her heels, grumbling. She thought she heard the words "barking mad" and "bloody closets!"

"Nice big fireplace – easy as a swish to get that connected to the Floo Network, if you like," the agent said with a wave toward the sooty black portal to the rest of the magical world.

"And just look at that view!" he exclaimed, indicating a small window that was the sole source of natural light in the room. The three of them couldn't stand side by side in front of it, so the agent took a step back behind them. As it was, Annie and George nearly stood cheek to cheek in the window frame. It was a lovely pastoral view, Annie had to admit. She just wished there was a bit more of it.

The agent then swept them into the kitchen. Annie heard a solid thud behind her, instantly followed by a muttered, "Ow!" She turned around to see George rubbing his forehead. Unbelievably, the ceiling rafters were even lower in this room.

"I'm sure we could make arrangements for any of the furnishings you see here to stay," the agent added, rapidly trying to distract them from the tiny kitchen dimensions by sweetening the deal. "Just say the word. It's a buyer's market now, that's for sure." The agent waved his wand around and all the magical appliances hummed into life; the sconces lit up and cast the little room in a warm, inviting glow.

Annie scanned each wall. As she'd predicted, there were no outlets to be seen. None of the houses they had toured so far had been wired for electricity, nor had she expected them to. They had all been wizards' houses, not Muggle ones, after all.

"How far is the nearest road?" she asked.

"Erm – road? You mean the sort Muggles drive cars on? Well, I must admit, you've got me on that one. I'm afraid I have no idea at all. Likely a good distance, I'd imagine. I'm curious though – why do you ask?"

Annie chuckled, more at herself than the agent. "Because I'm particularly thick. I mean, there's no lane leading away from here, so why should I expect a road nearby?" she replied, smiling at her husband as she spoke.

George smiled back at her attempt at humor, which was a relief to her. The agent, however, looked at George with confused concern.

"My wife is a Muggle herself, Mr. Stanley," George explained.

"Really?!" the agent spluttered. "Oh, well, isn't that lovely? Erm – how do you like the house so far, my dear?" he asked, attempting to recover himself. "Good bargain for the price, you must admit," he said, hoping she'd agree.

"It's very... nice," she offered, noncommittally.

The agent's persistent crocodile smile finally deflated into a disappointed smirk.

"Would you mind giving us a few moments alone, Mr. Stanley? To discuss the house?" George asked.

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," he agreed, eager now to leave the awkward atmosphere and convinced they were a lost cause anyway. "I'll just be out front if you have any questions."

"Are they all going to be like this, then?" she asked as soon as they were alone.

"You mean built to elfish specifications?" George countered as he knocked his head a second time on a rafter and swore softly.

Annie couldn't help giggling. "You could start wearing helmets at home," she teased him.

"Ha, ha," he laughed sarcastically, rubbing his temple.

"No – what I mean is, are they all so completely... magical? Not one thing in here is useable by someone like me. I couldn't boil a pot of water, George!" she cried in quiet desperation. "And so remote.... I'd be completely isolated: no road, no neighbors...."

"Well, that bit's sort of required by law, remember?" he reminded her. "Minimizes the risk of...."

"Being discovered," she said, completing his sentence. "Right." After a pause, she added, "How far do you think we are from the Burrow?"

"About seven miles, I think, as the crow flies. Maybe a bit more," he said as he walked over to her side while keeping his head bent comically low. "It's the closest one we've seen. And you won't be lonely for long. You'll have more company than you'll know what to do with pretty soon." He hugged her, patting her rapidly growing belly.

She laughed. "No one will hear me scream at them like your mother did at you, which is convenient," she teased.

"No one will hear much of anything out here. That's a perk," he said softly, kissing her forehead.

Annie smiled wryly at what she understood was innuendo from her husband. They had never really spent any time together without the constant threat of being overheard or interrupted.

"Nearly the only one," she agreed sarcastically. "This won't work. None of them we've seen will work," she said with more seriousness, heaving a sigh of frustration.

"I know," he agreed. "But we've already seen everything in the area, unless you want to reconsider living in a Muggle village."

"No!" she cried. "I'm sick of hiding in plain sight. No more pretending. I refuse to live a life that way anymore."

"You don't have to convince me! I'm just laying out all our options, you know," he said, his smile belying his defensive tone.

"What are we going to do?" she groaned.

"I suppose it's back to the drawing board," he muttered with a shrug.

Inspiration hit Annie like a flash. "That's it! George, you're a genius! "

"I know," he responded in surprise. "What exactly did I figure out?"

"The drawing board! We'll build our own house... exactly as we want it... wherever we want it. It's the perfect solution, of course, love. You're absolutely brilliant!"

"I admit that last bit is true," he chuckled. "But, Annie, I don't really know much about building a house."

"But we do know someone who is an expert: Jane!"

*

Annie had not seen Jane since her Gran's funeral the previous winter. Jane's university studies, compounded by the series of traumatic events that had befallen Annie as winter thawed into spring, had led the two friends to practically drop all communication between them for a while. Annie was careful not to spend too much time catching up over the phone, diverting most of Jane's inquiries about what had happened in Ottery over the past months while she was away in Cardiff by lying through her teeth.

"Not much, really," Annie had demurred. "You know... the same old."

Her friend had squealed with excitement as soon as she laid eyes on Annie, of course understanding the biggest bit of news without a word. And Jane was further thrilled to learn they wanted her to design a home for them.

"This won't be a typical house, Jane," warned Annie.

"I never expect anything typical from you, Annie," she teased her. "I'm just so excited to have the opportunity to do this for you! It'll be a real test for me, as well. What did you have in mind?"

Annie looked at George and shrugged. "Any suggestions?" she asked.

"Erm... yeah, I've got one request: high ceilings," he said with a chuckle.

Annie giggled as well.

"I sense this is a private joke," teased Jane. "Right – vaulted ceilings. Anything else? What sort of architectural style do you like?"

"Dunno. What have you got to choose from?" Annie asked.

Jane handed them a book. "This might give you some ideas. Flip through it, you two, while I start dinner," she instructed them. Jane's parents had already made plans to be out of town this weekend, wrecking her plan to visit with them as well, so she was on her own in their house in Ottery.

Annie and George began looking at the pictures of homes. The first was an example of medieval design. "Definitely not," they both said in unison, smiling at each other in agreement. They continued, rapidly flipping through an assortment of historical styles, agreeing they held little interest for them.

Not until they reached the very end of the book did they begin to see anything they truly liked. The clean, straight lines, open floor plans and bright, natural light of the most modern designs attracted them both.

"It's so different from what you or I grew up with, isn't it?" she asked him.

"I really like it, though," he agreed. "It's... easy, you know? No fuss. Just simple."

Annie nodded in understanding. "Effortless, almost," she added.

Jane peeked over their shoulders. "I wouldn't say effortless, exactly, but very doable," she chimed in. "I'm impressed – you two have very good taste!" Jane sat down in a chair across from them and took out a pad of paper. "Now, let's start making some decisions. First off... how many rooms? How many floors?"

"We are planning for a large family, right, Annie?" George winked. "Better make it big."

"Four bedrooms should be plenty," Annie giggled. "One for us, one for guests, one for boys, and one for girls. Best to just keep it simple," she recommended.

"But the rooms should be big enough to accommodate lots of each," he insisted, laughing again.

"Well, with this type of modular design, we can even make that part flexible. Moveable walls, if you like," Jane laughed, not entirely sure if they were joking or serious. "How's that for compromise?"

"Sounds perfect," said Annie.

"And we'll need a big fireplace," suggested George, spreading his arms wide to indicate the dimensions.

"A big, open ground floor would be nice," added Annie. "A roomy kitchen... and dining space for a crowd – for when your family comes over," she said to George.

"And I'll want a workshop – a big one," he said.

"Okay, I get it already. Lots of square footage," Jane said. "Definitely two, maybe three floors. What else?"

"We want to try to minimize the use of electricity," Annie said tentatively. "We'd prefer to stay off the grid, actually, if possible."

"We can try solar, if you want," said Jane thoughtfully. "But you'll still probably want to supplement it with a regular residential line."

"Right, well... we have a peculiar situation when it comes to electricity," George said, carefully pronouncing the word. "All the lines have to be strongly protected from surges... from within the house as well as out," he added somewhat guardedly.

"What exactly are you going to be doing to cause electrical surges?" Jane asked curiously.

"I warned you we would have some unusual requests," Annie said with a smile. "And that's one of the big ones. But we'll only need five, maybe six outlets in the entire place."

"That's ridiculous, Annie. I'm all for conserving energy, but that's too extreme. What about lights? Appliances? You'll overload the house trying to pull too much power through too few outlets."

"We plan to rely on natural light and old-fashioned mechanical appliances whenever possible. Trust me, the number of outlets is plenty," Annie argued.

Jane was unconvinced. "What about resale value? No one else will want a house with only six outlets!"

"Not a problem," chimed in George. "It'll never be for sale."

Jane scrutinized the couple in front of her for several moments. "You're not involved in anything illegal, are you?"

George and Annie both laughed at Jane's suspicions.

"Not anymore," George said cryptically. "Strictly aboveboard, I assure you."

"We're reformed!" Annie added. "It's the straight and narrow path for us from now on!"

*

Over the following weeks of the summer, George met with Jane numerous times, tweaking the house plans to what Jane called his "quirky specifications." Once satisfied with the design, he conferred with her extensively, making sure he understood the blueprints perfectly, confirming what each little symbol stood for and footnote signified. Jane promised to help serve as a contractor of sorts, helping to place orders for materials and as many prefabricated features as possible.

Meanwhile, George and his father began discussing the location of their new home. After touring a few nearby yet reclusive locations, including a very tempting one on a cliff above the sea, they came up with a plan to find a spot on Weasley land instead, thereby avoiding mountains of paperwork and months of waiting on the Ministry to process a new construction request. It was no small undertaking, after all: the building of a new magical residence. There were reams of secrecy laws to be followed, not to mention a parade of site inspections that had to be scheduled whenever a brand new spot was chosen. George agreed with his father that he had neither the time nor the patience required to deal with the complicated bureaucracy entailed. An "improvement" on already-developed Weasley property would be far simpler to pull off.

Just after dawn one morning in July, George and his father walked through the woods toward the willow tree that had figured so prominently in George's childhood in order to collect a dowsing rod. As he scanned the enormous tree, Arthur's eyes took in the graffiti-smattered trunk, smiling at the bark carvings that read "Cannons Rule!" and "Gryffindor!" He noted the newest-looking addition was a heart that contained the initials "GW + AJ" within. He was puzzled by a large, suspicious black scorch mark near the ground but decided not to ask. He was even able to smile sadly at "Fred was here," scrawled much higher on a branch near a weatherworn but still solid-seeming platform constructed of slightly familiar-looking pieces of timber.

Arthur shook his head slowly, processing the implications of what his twin sons had gotten away with as children. "You know I adore Annie, George – but if I'd had any idea about all this at the time, I'd've wrung both your necks, you know," Arthur chuckled, testing some of the branches by twisting them between his fingers.

George smiled in response, though it looked more like a grimace. It was terribly hard, being here in this place with so many memories of Fred clamoring around him. It was making him jittery, the way they jumped out from their hiding places behind nearly everything.

"Don't blame me. We told Mum the truth from the beginning," he joked half-heartedly.

Arthur laughed in response as he cut a switch from the tree. "That you did, indeed. And is it any wonder she didn't believe you, with your track record?"

George couldn't bear to look at the willow tree anymore and tried looking out across the stream bank instead. His eyes fell on the spot where Fred used to ambush them with volleys of chestnuts whenever he had the chance. He could hear his brother's childish voice yelling, "Duck and cover!" from across the years.

"Are we ready to move on, Dad?" he asked hopefully.

"Certainly, George. I've got what we need," Arthur replied softly.

After spending the morning wandering around Weasley property, they found an excellent location for a well a good distance away from the Burrow yet within sight of it, near a small hill.

"This would be a lovely spot, George," offered Arthur. "Good light, nice views, plenty of privacy," he said, indicating the positive aspects with broad sweeps of his arm.

George nodded in agreement. It was nice, and he was confident Annie would like it as well. He could easily imagine their house nestled into the hill, with its large windows facing out over the meadow that extended on to the south and west. Annie could transform the area surrounding the hill into a pleasant garden, just like she'd planned, with no trouble at all.

He took the opportunity to climb to the top of the little hill. As he stood at the summit, he was hit with a flash of a memory: they had been here before, the three of them, that winter of the blizzard. For an instant, he was flying down the hill on an ancient toboggan, snow spraying into his face once more. He remembered their excited laughter. He remembered sharing the chocolate frog with a tiny Annie, her eyes lit up with wonder. He remembered arguing with his brother about whether or not they could trust her with their secrets....

There was no escaping them; they were everywhere. Memories of Fred permeated the air and littered the ground, clogging his lungs and catching his ankles, making him stumble. George doubted there was a foot of land in the surrounding five square miles that wouldn't hold some recollection of their childhood together. They had been as thorough here in their explorations and adventures as they had been at school, never satisfied with already-discovered territory.

But it wouldn't matter where he and Annie went; he had realized that by now. The current goal was not so much to escape the memories altogether, but rather to learn to live in peace with them. Hopefully, the brand new house would serve as a sort of filter, abating the flood into a more manageable stream. It was slow going, but he was optimistic that someday it would be tolerable. Either that or he would go mad.

No. As tempting as it was, some days, to let go of rational thought – he would not allow that happen. Too many people were relying on him now. He smiled a tiny but genuine grin in anticipation of the twins growing inside his wife even now. His stomach did the tiny little flip it always performed whenever he thought of them.

He turned his thoughts, as usual, away from the departed and toward her instead. His best friend who had become his wife, who was soon to become the mother of his children: Annie. She came the closest to understanding what he was going through, even more so than his father or mother. And she had been the one who'd reached out to him again and again, penetrating the crippling depression and pulling him out from under its smothering weight every time. She was made of stronger stuff than he was, he gratefully acknowledged.

Thank God for Annie.