Family Ties

Chapter 42: Family Ties

Fall 1998

Annie woke at dawn. Her left hip, upon which she was currently lying, was aching in protest of the enormous amount of extra weight crushing it. She yawned with exhaustion. Never being able to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch without waking in discomfort or having to pee was taking its toll.

Then she smiled in excited anticipation. It won't be much longer now, she thought as she felt the little bodies inside her abdomen try to shift themselves into more comfortable positions. Sorry, kids – no more room left to stretch. Wouldn't you be so much more comfortable outside rather than in? I want to meet you, already! she silently coaxed them.

A new thought came into her mind then: it was a scene from a movie she had watched as a child. An obnoxious, gum-chewing little girl had stolen some sort of trick candy from Willy Wonka, then proceeded to swell up to ridiculous proportions and turn blue. Annie could empathize. Everything about her was swollen now: ankles, feet, fingers, and belly most of all. Her hushed giggle woke George, who was curled around her.

"Good morning, You Lot!" he said softly, then kissed the base of her neck where it met her shoulder as he stroked her belly. That had become his nickname for her – "You Lot" – ever since the day of the ultrasound when they had discovered twins were on their way.

"The best one yet," she answered with optimistic enthusiasm. It was impossible to be grumpy around George's cheerfulness, no matter how uncomfortable and tired she felt. Especially considering how hard-earned his peace of mind was. "How are the pyrotechnics coming along?" she asked him as she attempted to literally roll herself out of their bed.

George chuckled as he gave her rear end a gentle push to help her. "Assembled and ready. I'll set them all up to launch from the trees this morning," he explained as he rose out of bed himself.

"Not from your broom?" she asked, raising a dubious eyebrow. She'd been under the impression that he'd usually risked life and limb by aerially detonating his fireworks by hand.

"I think I'd like to see them from the ground, for once. From a purely professional point of view, of course," he replied, attempting nonchalance.

Annie smirked. "I'll be fine! You don't need to hover around me at all times," she assured him.

"It's getting close now, Annie." He looked at her with earnest seriousness for a moment, which then broke into an amused grin. "You look like you're nearly ready to pop," he chuckled.

"I feel like I'm nearly ready to pop," she agreed with a laugh as she waddled out of their bedroom to the bathroom.

Today promised to be a big day. A bell-weather type of day. For the first time in ages – so long ago no one could actually remember when it happened last – the entire Weasley family would be assembled under the roof of the Burrow to celebrate Molly's birthday. Everyone, that is, except for the one they had lost, who would never again join them for any reason.

And that was the fulcrum upon which the entire thing was delicately balanced. Could they pull it off? Could the family have an actual celebration without Fred?

It was an ambitious undertaking, to be sure. Annie and Ginny had planned the menu carefully to include some of Molly's favorites while avoiding any of Fred's. Each of her children had agonized for weeks over her gifts, searching for the perfect thing to cheer her yet not remind her of the reason she needed cheering. It wasn't as if they wanted to deny Fred or his absence; everyone just wanted something else to be the focus for once.

As admirable as the motivation was, Annie thought that they were taking it a bit too far, actually, even though she could sympathize. Molly had done exceptionally well, dealing with the grief. If anything, it was her children who were making things more difficult for her. They never allowed her to reminisce about Fred, no matter how happy the memory, always changing the subject immediately. They were so afraid of causing Molly any pain, they didn't seem to realize that they perhaps weren't dealing with their own.

George was the exception to this rule – but only on his good days. Usually, those were the days he spent outdoors or working on the house. Physically exhausting activity and fresh air seemed to be reliable, if temporary, remedies for depression – in his case, at least. On those evenings, after dinner, the two of them would sometimes sit with Molly and Arthur at the table and share a happy or funny Fred story, smiling with the memory. Other days, he was just as skittish as the rest of them: eyes downcast, shoulders and head bent, deliberately avoiding contact with his brother's ghost.

So Annie had kept her gift for Molly a secret from everyone but her husband. She had worked on the photo album for weeks, alone and holed up in their room. Some days it had been hard not to damage the photographs with her own tears, as she had often been smiling through them. And that was what had kept her conviction firm: if she could feel happiness when she saw Fred's face in a picture, she thought surely Molly would treasure them as well. George assured her it was a nice sentiment that his mother would likely appreciate, but couldn't bring himself to look at what she'd done or even be present when she worked on it.

The morning was uneventful. After breakfast, George and Ron took off to work together on the evening's entertainment project. Annie and Ginny began baking an enormous cake and lunch for the six of them now living at the Burrow for the time being. That was yet another reason Molly had been more than usually cheerful lately: her house was full of her children once again.

The rest of the family was expected to start arriving in the late afternoon, helping to set up everything else. For once, the celebration would be limited to actual Weasleys, either by blood or marriage. None of the family friends felt it was appropriate to intrude (or they were chicken, more like, Annie grumbled to herself). But that was fine by her; she already had ten to cook for tonight. And my back is aching more than ever today, she complained silently.

George tromped back inside for lunch just as a particularly uncomfortable muscle spasm hit her. She was leaning a bit on the counter, eyes closed, and pressing her hand into her tailbone which usually offered a modicum of relief.

"Back hurting again?" he said with concern as he came over to her and rubbed her shoulders.

Annie nodded.

George pushed her hand gently away and pressed down firmly with both his thumbs on the same spot: right at the top of her tailbone. Annie sighed audibly with the relief it helped bring.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt so much if you lost some weight," he chuckled.

"You're hilarious," she moaned but smiled as well.

George pressed it further, apparently in a mood for mischief today. "If I'd had any idea you'd get this fat so soon after we got married...."

The worst of the muscle spasm had passed, and Annie smacked his hands away in indignation. "I have you to blame for my predicament, you know. A little sympathy would be nice."

"You have nothing but sympathy from me, Annie," laughed Ginny from her seat at the table. "Must be hell, married to this git."

"Nobody asked you, brat," snapped George playfully. "Don't you have someplace else to be? Someone else to annoy?"

"Annie likes me because I actually help her in the kitchen. Unlike some others I could mention, pawing on her all the time," Ginny retorted.

Annie laughed out loud at George's shocked face. "Don't be cross, George! I like the pawing, usually. Ginny, nose out!"

Ginny and Annie continued working on dinner preparations until about an hour after lunch. By then, everything for the evening was either fully cooked or ready to pop in the oven later. Annie was utterly exhausted by the morning's effort – far more than she expected to be. She sat down for a few minutes on the sofa in the living room and closed her eyes – she told herself it was just for a moment.

Ginny shook her shoulder gently. "Annie, why don't you go lie down? I've got everything under control here, and you look like you need the rest."

To Annie's surprise, she had completely fallen asleep while sitting up on the sofa. Nearly thirty minutes had passed. Perhaps Ginny was right; it would likely be a late night, after all. Just a short nap might be a very good idea.

Annie nodded as she yawned and stood up, embarrassingly requiring Ginny's assistance to haul her out of the seat. As she waddled back to their room, her back began to ache again. She thanked God she only had a few weeks more to go. These damn muscle spasms....

Annie fell back asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, too exhausted to be bothered by the backache.

Annie awoke to the clamor of familiar voices laughing and joking downstairs in the front room and the sounds of furniture being moved. She glanced at the time on her watch and immediately panicked. It was nearly time for the party to begin!

What is the matter with me today? How could Ginny have let me sleep so long?

As she sat up in bed, she took a deep breath. She could smell that dinner was indeed in the oven. Oh, bless you, Ginny!, she cried silently. She would have to do something special to thank her sister-in-law, who had just saved her lazy arse.

Annie took a quick look in the bedroom mirror and cringed at the sight. She snuck unnoticed up the stairs and into the bathroom for a fast shower. She hoped it might help wake her up as well as make her more presentable.

As she stood basking in the spray of the warm water, soap in hand, an odd sensation suddenly took her breath away. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Forceful. Involuntary. Not sharply painful – more closely resembling a squeezing ache – but certainly uncomfortable. And completely un-ignorable. She turned off the water and stood dripping in the shower.

Could it be?

The sensation had passed now. Annie stepped carefully over to where she had taken off her watch. It read 6:45 p.m.

After she had gotten dressed, she crept back down to her bedroom. There was something she wanted to check on – something she remembered reading. She quietly turned on her little flashlight – the only source of illumination in the house she could control – and flipped to the page in question.

Braxton-Hicks Contractions are also called 'practice contractions'....

Maybe, she thought as she read further. She would have to pay attention, tonight. Keep an eye on the clock and try to stay objective. Damn! Why tonight, of all nights? When I can't afford the distraction?

"There you are, lazy cow!" cried George with an impish smile as she entered the living room. He hurried across the room to embrace her. "Have a nice lie-in, love?" he asked sarcastically.

Annie smiled at his teasing; she hoped it was convincingly. She glanced at her watch as she quickly sat down, taking a deep breath. It was 7:00 exactly – another one.

"George! It isn't as if it was undeserved!" scolded Molly. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked with concern.

"Fine!" Annie exclaimed brightly. Apparently too enthusiastically, for Molly's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Relax tonight, Annie. I've got it covered," Ginny said, patting her on the shoulders.

Annie nodded mutely in thanks. Ginny had no idea how much relief she had just given her.

The evening's festivities went along as planned, for the most part. Ginny had done wonderfully with the final work on the meal, and Molly beamed with happiness to be surrounded by her children once again (7:13). They ate and chatted and joked together in the relaxed, cozy setting (7:24, 7:33, 7:42, 7:48). Everyone and everything was enveloped in a warm, rosy glow (7:53). It was proving to be a perfect night, and the celebration plans were working like a charm... almost.

George had absentmindedly rubbed small, firm circles on Annie's tailbone with his knuckles for most of the meal as he visited with his siblings. It felt heavenly, that little bit of relief, she thought. It was the only thing keeping her seated, in fact. She was certain she would otherwise be nervously pacing by this point. Everything else about tonight was going along so well, she couldn't stand the idea of interrupting it. Especially before Molly opened the presents they had all put so much effort into. Especially if this was some sort of false alarm.

Finally, Percy suggested it was time for the gifts. Annie wanted to kiss him in gratitude. It was a chance for her to stand up, stretch her legs, and walk a bit back to the bedroom to collect the photo album she had worked so long to make for Molly.

She bent to her knees to fetch the album out from under the bed, then dropped it on the mattress as soon as she stood up again. Her watch read 7:59. She clutched the bedpost and gasped at the strongest one yet, somehow resisting the urge to cry out for George and his magnificently distracting, soothing hands.

She got back to the table just in time for the next contraction (8:03). As she sat down, she turned partly away from him and the rest of the family at the table and grabbed his hand, pressing it into her lower back.

"It's really bothering you tonight, eh?" he said with mild concern.

She was thankful his attention was currently otherwise focused on Charlie's latest adventurous dragon tale. The entire table was intent on Charlie just now, in fact. Annie's eyes nearly rolled back into her head as George's two thumbs pressed deeply into the base of her spine. She bit her lip in order not to sigh audibly with relief.

Molly made a large show of being enormously pleased by each and every one of her children's gifts (8:08). Annie was torn; she was glad that Molly was enjoying herself, that everyone was so happy, of course. The night was turning out to be an unqualified success. But she was beginning to desperately wish her mother-in-law would speed things up a bit (8:13).

By 8:17, Annie could no longer deny what was happening and smiled to herself with her thrilling secret. They're coming! If I can only hold out a bit longer....

"Annie, it's your turn," George whispered in her ear.

She had been biting her lip again, head bent, gripping the edges of the present a bit too tightly, and hadn't realized that all the other gifts had been opened. She looked up to find Molly was looking at her strangely.

"Oh, sorry. Here you are, Molly," she rushed to say and held out the present to her.

Molly was staring at her with narrowed eyes once again. She took the gift hesitantly, as if preferring to remain occupied instead by the thought in her head.

Annie pasted on her biggest and, unfortunately, she figured, most likely fakest smile for her mother-in-law's benefit.

Molly slowly tore her eyes away from Annie's face and finally looked at the gift. "Oh, Annie, it's lovely! Just perfect, really," she cried sincerely as she flipped through a few of the pages at random.

Many of the photos she would have never seen before, Annie reckoned proudly, even if they didn't move. The majority of them were of Fred and George together, mugging for her camera as children, but a few were of Fred alone: on the beach, surfing, hiking, even munching cookies at their wedding ceremony.

Molly touched one tenderly with her fingers. "My birthday, last year..." she said wistfully. Annie had captured the moment that night exactly a year ago when Fred and George had both leaned in to give their mother a peck on the cheek.

Annie sucked in a loud, involuntary gasp through her teeth as a new, forceful contraction squeezed her. She held it in, hoping against hope nobody noticed.

It was a lost cause. Everyone was looking curiously at her now.

Molly smiled brightly. "That's about every five minutes for nearly an hour now, Annie. Time to go!"

Annie winced. Apparently, she had been deluding herself that she had hidden her situation from everyone at the table.

George grabbed Annie's chin and pulled her around to face him. "What does she mean, 'Every five minutes?' What's wrong?" he demanded angrily.

"Don't yell at her, George! Help her into the truck!" Molly cried as everyone at the table leapt up at once, upsetting several glasses. "Everyone out of the way now, children. Move, I said, Ron! There now.... GENTLY, George!"

But Annie was not moving fast enough for him. He scooped her up in his arms as soon as she eased her way around the table and dashed out the door with her.

"This is not a license to drive like a maniac!" Annie yelled as he sped backwards down the lane in the truck.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he yelled back at her but kept his eyes facing out the rear window.

"I didn't know myself, for sure, until a few minutes ago," she argued, fudging the time frame a little bit, trying to assuage his understandable anger. If it had been any other night, she would have told him instantly.

Her excuse seemed to mollify him slightly. But then she made the mistake of failing to adequately stifle her outcry at the next contraction. They were getting so much more intense now....

"What? Another one? How far apart are they now?" he shouted at her.

"I don't know anymore!" she fairly screamed in panic, panting in pain. Please let us make it to the hospital in time, she begged silently. George will never forgive me if they're born in the truck! In retrospect, she was willing to perhaps concede her stoic attempt at delay had been a bit misguided.

Two contractions later, Annie and George burst into the doors of the Ottery St. Catchpole hospital, and Annie was summarily whisked off to the nearest delivery room with George jogging behind. Annie's labor was now quickly and thoroughly Muggle-ified and institutionalized: she was stripped of her clothes and made to wear a hospital gown, poked and probed and scanned and wired up to a platoon of monitors.

Molly and Arthur arrived a few minutes later – by some magical means or another, Annie guessed. They poked their heads in the door just to let them know the family had arrived, then began to excuse themselves to the waiting room.

"Molly?" Annie cried out in the midst of another contraction.

Molly dashed over to her daughter-in-law. "Yes, dear?" she asked, gripping Annie's hand.

Annie couldn't yet speak, riding the crest of the latest contraction, but looked at Molly with a pleading look. She looked at her son and saw an equally panicked expression upon his face. Molly nodded at them both in understanding.

"George, hold her hand like this and keep rubbing her back like you did at home. Good boy. Now that's it, Annie. Let it come, don't fight it," she murmured her words in a soothing voice.

Once the pain had passed for another brief interval, Molly spoke up again. "Are you certain, dear? I'm happy to help, of course, but perhaps you'd like to be alone, just the two of you? I don't want to intrude...."

"You don't mind, do you George?" Annie asked, still gasping in recovery.

George shook his head gratefully, eyes wide with excitement.

"Thank you, Molly. It would mean a lot to me if you would stay," Annie said.

Molly nodded and smiled reassuringly as she divested herself of her coat and hat and began taking charge. "Now, I have no idea how Muggles do this sort of thing, of course, but I'll help as much as I can, dear. Next one, I'll show you a trick for breathing that may help a little bit, all right?"

Several contractions later, a doctor arrived and offered Annie pain relief in the form of an epidural. Annie looked to Molly once again for advice.

Molly looked directly into her eyes and leveled with her. Even having no idea what an Eppy-door-all was (Muggles and their silly pills!), she said, "If I had had the option to ease the pain, I would've taken it in a heartbeat, believe you me! It's your first time and may take a while, dear. And twins, to boot. No use in trying to be a hero."

Fifteen minutes later, Annie was seated on the edge of the bed, curled into George's supporting arms while her back was exposed to the anesthesiologist. She squeezed his shoulders tightly, trying like hell to keep still as yet another wave of pain broke over her. Then a tiny prick, its miniscule discomfort lost amidst the greater of the contraction, and a warm sensation began to flood down her legs. She slowly eased back onto the bed a few minutes later, feeling the faint beginnings of blessed relief.

Annie began to laugh as her pain-fueled stress began to dissipate; she reckoned the looks on George's and Molly's faces were the funniest things she had ever seen. They were utterly gobsmacked as well as somewhat disgusted with what they had just seen: an enormous needle had just pierced her spine and a tube then inserted which was now pumping numbing bliss into her body. This particular bit of "backward Muggle nonsense" was priceless, as far as Annie was concerned.

Molly was the first to speak. After visibly swallowing her discomfort and nervously smoothing down her clothes, she stepped over to the bedside and took Annie's hand. "So, dear.... How do you feel now?" she asked in a guilty, worried voice, as if regretting she'd made the recommendation to Annie in the first place.

"It's nearly completely gone. I hardly feel a thing." Annie smiled in genuine relief.

Molly's shocked look returned. "Nothing? At all? Blimey!"

Annie shook her head and sighed. After a moment, she pointed to the foot of the bed. "Can't move 'em, either," she giggled.

Molly pursed her lips in stern disapproval. George had resumed his position at the head of her bed, stroking Annie's sweaty hair back away from her face, trying like hell not to be useless.

A nurse had come in to check the monitors, and she paused to urge Annie to take the opportunity to rest. "Doctor will likely dial it back in a bit so you can push. You'll need your strength then, dear."

Annie nodded, took George's hand, and closed her eyes.

Just after midnight on October thirty-first, Arthur Llewellyn Weasley was the first to make his entrance into the world. A mere fourteen minutes later, his twin brother, Fred Rhisiart, joined him. Tiny, perfect, and healthy, the first of a new generation of Weasleys had arrived.

*

"My job is more complicated than yours, you know," George muttered through a yawn. He had just finished magically warming a bottle of formula with a burst of little blue flames flowering from his wand held beneath it. Now, he re-seated himself on the bed next to Annie. He was holding a tiny infant in one arm, the bottle expertly propped at an angle with his free hand. His head leaned back against the wall, but his face was turned toward her.

Annie could see his tired smile in the dim wand-tip light of the otherwise pitch-black room. She smiled back. "Mine's a bit more painful, though," she replied with a slight grimace. Her breasts were sore and nipples chapped from so much nursing over the past week since the twins were born. An identical, tiny body was happily and noisily sucking away there in her own arms now.

George snorted, then closed his eyes in exhaustion, giving up on the argument. It was one a.m., according to Annie's watch.

Her gaze fell again onto the miniature face just inches from her own. She could smell that powerful attractant – that intoxicating baby smell – emanating from the top of his fuzzy little head. It seemed to never leave her nose now; it had permeated everything in the room. It fed her almost bodily like manna.

She ever-so-gently stroked his bulging cheek with her finger, not wanting to disturb her infant son, but unable to resist making contact with his silky soft skin. He paused for a moment without opening his eyes, then began gulping eagerly once again. His little hand, weighing no more than a butterfly, was resting on the bare skin of her breast as he nursed. Her body heat was keeping it warm in the otherwise slightly chilly room.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her thoughts began to wander uncontrollably. It had been harder to keep them in check in the days since the twins had been born. Annie didn't want to startle the poor thing by leaking tears all over him, so she quickly wiped them from her cheeks with her free hand.

"What's wrong?"

Damn. She'd thought he still had his eyes closed. She didn't want to upset George, especially for some silly hormonal reason. She shook her head.

"Tell me," he pleaded, carefully shifting closer to her on the bed.

"It's nothing, George. Don't mind me," she tried to reassure him, only to begin to cry harder. Dammit!

"That's not nothing, Annie," he argued in a whisper.

"It's just...." Annie took a long, deep breath, wrestling for control. Her gaze returned to the infant in her arms. "When I think of how... we made them... when we loved each other. Because we love each other....

"How could she do it? How could she have looked at her own newborn baby and... just... left me there? Never looked back? I look at Fred and Art... and I think I'll go mad, I love them so much! I can't bear a minute not holding them in my arms, watching them breathe, being with them.

"How could she leave me? Why didn't she love me?" Annie began to sob quietly, much to her aggravation.

The bottle George had been holding was nearly empty anyway, so he gently wiggled it out of his son's mouth and propped him against his shoulder, in order to better comfort his weeping wife. He'd had a feeling this issue would surface at some point; perhaps sooner was better than later. To be honest, he had spent some time thinking much the same question himself these past few days. With his free arm, he held Annie tightly to him, resting his forehead in her soft curls.

"I don't know, Annie. It doesn't make a goddamn bit of sense to me. I ask myself that every bloody day, you know. How could anyone on earth not love you?"

A chuckle and smile broke through Annie's sobs as she wiped more tears away. His silly exaggeration was amusing. She loved him for trying so hard to cheer her.

"It wasn't my intention to be funny," he added, but a smile began to spread across his face as well.

"Your mother warned us about this, didn't she? The hormonal insanity?" Annie said, trying to laugh about it all.

"Chalk it up to hormones if you want," he said, not fooled for a moment. "But you ask a fair question, and you deserve an answer you'll unfortunately never get. It was completely fucked-up what your mother did to you. An absolute bloody miracle you're a normal person in spite of it. All I can say is, in an equally fucked-up and selfish way as well: I'm damn glad she did. Because you're my wife, sitting right here next to me in our bed, holding our sons, because of it."

George gently kissed away a fresh volley of tears now rolling down Annie's cheeks. "Sorry, love," he whispered, cursing himself for his selfish idiocy. "I made it worse, didn't I?"

Annie shook her head. "Better. Infinitely better."