In Memoriam

Chapter 45: In Memoriam

April 4, 1999 and May 2, 1999

Annie sat at the table, sipping a cup of tea and listening to the washing machine hum loudly as the load of clothes spun within. The twins were asleep upstairs, and George was in his workshop below, puttering about. Small, muffled explosions had punctuated the afternoon while he worked, and a weak but nearly constant stream of dingy smoke curled out from one of the ground-level windows. The house was otherwise quiet.

It was for this reason that she was startled by an unexpected knock at the door. She dashed over, wondering who would come visiting to Mole Hill who felt the need to knock at the door. Everyone they knew simply Floo'd in, and they were far enough back from the road that non-magical strangers never wandered by.

A further surprise greeted her when she opened the door. "Harry?"

"Erm, hi, Annie. Um, I was wondering... is George in? I went to the shop first, and they told me he might be here," Harry stammered uncomfortably.

"Come in, of course," she replied, stepping aside for him to enter. "Yes, he's here. I'll get him for you, just have a seat."

Harry came inside and stood awkwardly by the sofa. Annie poked her head in the door that led downstairs and called for George to come up, letting him know he had a visitor.

"Who is it?" he called up from the bottom of the stairs.

His face had a few comical streaks of greenish-purple soot across his brow, making her giggle. "Clean yourself off and come see Harry. He wants a word with you."

"Harry?" he mouthed, looking puzzled. He shrugged and furrowed his brow, silently asking her what it was she thought he wanted.

Annie gave a tiny shrug and shook her head slightly in response. She was as baffled as he was at this point. She pointed at her forehead, then at him, to let him know he wasn't presentable yet.

"Tell him I'll be up in a sec," he replied loudly, she assumed for Harry's benefit, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Annie turned back to Harry. "Can I get you anything?" she offered politely.

"Erm, no, thanks. I'm fine," he replied, squirming a bit.

Whatever it is, it's bound to be unpleasant, Annie mused. Confident George would tell her all she needed to know later, she smiled reassuringly at Harry. A few moments later, she could hear George stomping up the stairs. "I'll just leave you to it, then," she offered quietly to the preoccupied young fellow.

"I'll be out hanging the wash, love," she said to George as she left the room.

"And I'll keep an ear out for the boys," he assured her. Turning toward Harry, he gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. "What brings you 'round, mate?" he asked as he sunk into the neighboring chair.

"I... I meant to come... sooner than this, actually," Harry stammered.

Immediately, George was on his guard. He figured whatever was making Harry so uncomfortable was likely to make him so, as well. "Okay...."

Harry took a deep sigh and bent his head. "I just wanted you to know... all of you... your whole family, I mean... but you especially...."

George sat silently, at an utter loss to comprehend what was so difficult for Harry to say.

"I just need to tell you... I'm sorry."

George mentally scrambled to think of what Harry could possibly be referring to. Had something happened between him and Ginny? Were they on the outs once again? If so, why the hell would he feel the need to apologize to her brother?

"Sorry for what?" he asked with trepidation. He genuinely liked Ron's best friend and Ginny's love interest and wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever confession seemed to be imminent.

Harry finally looked him in the eye. "For what happened. To you."

George's brow furrowed, thrown for a loop. "To me?"

"Last year," Harry mumbled patiently.

Last year? He hadn't seen Harry at all last year. At least until....

Harry hung his head once more as he saw the look of understanding dawn on George's face. "It was my fault. All of it. If I hadn't been distracted by the Hallows.... If I had just paid attention to Dumbledore.... And all of you paid the price for my stupidity."

George's mind reeled. Usually, whenever the events he suspected Harry was referring to were brought to mind, George would begin to sink into a dark place. But today – this moment, at least – felt different. The darkness wasn't closing in, pulling him downward. Instead, it felt more like a glowing, growing heat inside him. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you think...?"

"I'm telling you I know what I did. I know that I'm responsible!" Harry cried, cutting him off. "I know that my actions led to them all getting killed. And I'm sorry. George, I'm so sorry!"

George felt his pulse begin to race, felt the fury of it spreading warmly through his limbs. "You fucking idiot," he mumbled.

"I know!" Harry moaned, wallowing in his misery.

"No! You don't! You really are a piece of work, you know that?" George hissed.

"Trust me, I know." Harry winced, bracing for the outpouring of George's angry grief that he seemed to think was certain to follow.

"Shut up and listen to me, you arrogant little prick!" George snarled.

"Sorry?" The stunned look on Harry's face told George how unexpected his reaction to the apology was.

"Let me just get this straight. You, Harry Potter, are taking responsibility for the death of my twin brother?"

"It was my fault, George," he argued. "Everyone was there that night because of me." A tortured, angsty look took hold of Harry's face, begging to be smacked off.

George stood up, unable to contain the anger boiling up within him by any other method. He began to pace in front of the hearth, clenching his fists, reminding himself not to wake his sleeping children by screaming at the unmitigated idiot sitting on his sofa.

"Everyone there was fighting for their own reasons, not for you!" George whispered in a barely restrained voice. "And I bloody guarantee you every Weasley would have been there even if your sorry arse had been killed when you were a baby! Every one of us would have been there, taking a stand against evil and fighting for what we believe in, no matter what!"

"The fact remains that none of you would have been at Hogwarts that night if I hadn't been so thick! If I had just figured it all out sooner," Harry protested.

"What... then you could have committed suicide right off, destroyed that nasty bit of Horcrux inside you and saved us all the trouble?" George seethed. "That's utter bullshit, Harry. Not even you could be that stupid."

Harry stood now as well, glaring at George angrily. "Well, actually, that is sort of what I did do, when you think about it," he snapped.

George snorted, unimpressed by his friend's umbrage. "Fred always swore you were a nutter," he muttered. Taking a few deep breaths and swallowing the worst of his anger, he summoned a calmer voice from somewhere inside himself. "Look, Harry, mate – you're a decent fellow and I consider you a friend. Hell, I'll even welcome you into the family as a brother when the time comes. But you can be a helluva self-absorbed prat sometimes."

"Self-absorbed?!" Harry cried incredulously, growing increasingly defensive at George's less-than-understanding appreciation of his sacred remorse.

George chuckled in response. "Your reaction proves my point. Right now I can see you're thinking, 'How the hell can someone as self-sacrificing as me be self-absorbed,' right? I mean, you literally gave your life for the cause, for Merlin's sake, as you so patiently just pointed out. You're a hero. Our savior."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"And Harry, I grant you every part of that," George continued as if Harry hadn't interrupted, "but it doesn't mean your head isn't fully up your own arse."

"But..." Harry sputtered.

George cut him off before he could say anything else more infuriating. "With or without you, everything Dumbledore said about the power of love being the only true weapon against evil like You-Know-Who was right. With or without you, I would have been there at Hogwarts, or wherever the battle would have been, putting my life on the line to defend my family, to protect Annie and my unborn half-blood children," he said, stabbing his finger toward the nursery door upstairs. "And if I were there, I assure you nothing would have kept Fred away. So by your stupid logic, I am as responsible for Fred's death as you seem to think you are."

"That's insane," Harry snapped.

"Well stated... for a loony," George retorted. "Harry, Fred was my twin. I was with him for the entire year you and Ron and Hermione were gone. I reckon I come a bit closer than you ever can to understanding his state of mind leading up to the battle. And it may apparently surprise you to learn that neither of us really gave a shit whether you were there or not. Everything was coming to a head anyway – you just happened to turn up in the right place at the right time, probably due to that freakish string of good luck that seems to follow you around."

"I made the decision to go to Hogwarts, fully knowing it might draw Voldemort," Harry insisted. "It was my stupid decision to put everyone there in danger."

"Because they were all so safe where they were before you got there with Snape as Headmaster and You-Know-Who pulling the Carrows' strings!" George argued. "And you really should have known Neville and Ginny had been fomenting student rebellion all year long without you. Should have expected them to alert the DA with the Hermione's coins."

That twist of logic made him stumble. "No... I mean, maybe, yes. The point is I should have thought it through a bit more," Harry stammered, trying to mentally get back on his feet in the argument.

"You still don't seem to get it!" George snarled. "You, the Great Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, are not the center of the goddamn universe, despite what you might think to the contrary. You are neither all-knowing nor all-powerful, and no one reasonably expects you to be so, except yourself for some reason. Only the most conceited, ignorant git thinks everything is his fault!

"I've got news for you, Harry: shit happens. And you are not God. Get over it, already."

Harry huffed in frustration, screwing his mouth into a grimace. "I'm just trying to say I'm sorry," he began again.

"Enough, already!" George shouted, then hushed himself immediately. He held up his hand, commanding Harry's silence, while he listened for evidence he had woken his sleeping sons. After several moments of silence, he continued in a much quieter tone. "I will accept your 'sorry' as a condolence, even as a commiseration. I miss the hell out of him, too. But fair warning to you: I will punch you in the face if you ever try to take the blame for his death again."

Harry blew an angry, frustrated sigh. "Fine. I've said what I came here to say."

"All right, then," George said tersely, flopping into a chair. "End of discussion."

An awkward silence descended upon them. Harry's hands were fists clenched at his sides, and he was staring at the floor. George suddenly noticed his own fingers were drumming on the arm of the chair and halted them.

"Want a slice of pie?" he asked him.

Harry swallowed, then looked up at him. "What kind?"

"Apple, I think," George said. "Annie made it this morning."

"Yeah, all right," Harry replied.

*

The day was warm and grey. Low clouds scudded across the sky. Occasionally, a fine mist would descend from one of them for a short while. Otherwise, the air was still. The army of workers who'd usually surrounded Hogwarts Castle for most of the past year, rebuilding it where possible and expanding it elsewhere when not, was silent today out of respect. Shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley were shuttered; the Ministry offices were closed. It was a national day of mourning.

By midday, a vast throng of people had assembled on the damp grounds of Hogwarts. Directly in front of a large, veiled monument, in the shadow of the still-ruined section of the castle, a hundred and fifty chairs were arranged in prim rows. Each seat was filled with a mourner of one of the fallen heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, as it was now known. Stretched out behind the seated was a solemn crowd of at least twice as many people, standing shoulder to shoulder, clad in dark robes, staring gravely ahead. Despite the mob of people, the air was quiet as everyone awaited the start of the ceremony.

Annie and George sat together at the end of a row. It was well past the twins' usual naptime, and by some miracle, they had fallen asleep in their parents' arms. The entire Weasley family was seated near the front, surrounded by their usual retinue of otherwise family-less Order members. The ranks of honorary Weasleys were burgeoning at this point; Molly perpetually seemed to be a magnet for orphans in dire need of a mother figure.

Like myself, Annie mused.

Annie watched mutely as a very small man directed a choir of young people in a mournful song. Dignitaries she neither recognized nor had ever heard of stood and spoke briefly in turn. It was painfully hard for her to pay attention to them.

It was hard to be here at all. The monstrous grief within her rattled the bars of its cage. She tried to concentrate instead on little Fred's innocent sleeping face, on his comforting weight in her arms.

Finally, the curtain fluttered, then vanished, and the monument was unveiled. A gleaming white marble phoenix, captured in the moment of landing on its perch with its wings curled like an embrace in front of its body, rested atop a six-foot-high by ten-foot-wide cubical base. Sitting as close as she was, Annie could see that more than a dozen names were carved on each of the two faces of the base closest to her, memorializing merely half the defenders of Hogwarts who had perished in the battle. She closed her eyes rather than accidentally read his name.

A tall, elderly woman strode confidently to the front of the audience. In a strong, lovely brogue, she introduced the next speaker: Harry Potter. The man of the moment. The hero of it all.

The crowd behind the seated mourners began to murmur and rustle. This is what they had come here to see, what they had been waiting for with bated breath.

Harry walked purposefully up to the front, like he didn't really want to be there and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. Annie knew it had taken a great deal of coaxing and arguing and laying on of guilt-trips by a lot of different people to get him to speak here at all. He owed it to the ones who followed him, fought alongside him, and gave the ultimate sacrifice, they had all argued, until he had finally given in and agreed to come.

At least he doesn't revel in it: this adulation people seem to shower him with, Annie thought charitably. And as she had gotten to know him better during the past year, on a personal level as her sister-in-law's boyfriend, she was able to see he was a nice enough fellow. A bit overly serious, sometimes, in her opinion. Perhaps a little too sensitive about some things.

Harry now turned to face the crowd, pointed his wand at his throat, and began to read from a piece of paper. His voice boomed throughout the gathering.

"We come together today to remember those who gave their lives one year ago. They did not die in glory, for nothing about war is ever glorious. They did, however, die with honor, defending Hogwarts, their families, and our comrades. They died protecting a way of life that values people and love more than power.

"Voldemort is gone. He was destroyed because we were all willing to give our lives for something worth believing in. Every single one of the heroes we remember today made that choice of their own free will. They chose love and were willing to die for it.

"We who stand here today because of the sacrifice of our loved ones must never forget. We must never let anyone ever forget. Let us honor their sacrifice by living the kind of lives they chose to defend. Lives committed to love, and justice, and doing what is right."

An almost perfect silence answered Harry's brief words: no animal moved, no breeze ruffled, no bird called. The only sounds that interrupted the quiet were a few scattered sniffles and muffled sobs from the ranks of the seated mourners.

Well done, Harry, Annie thought. Brief, inspirational, not too saccharine. She'd shivered when he'd said the forbidden name aloud, as had most of her family around her. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him say it; for some reason, it seemed to be Harry's thing to do so. Being an icon himself, perhaps he revels in the iconoclasm.

After five minutes of mutely observed grief, the stately witch returned to dismiss the audience. The standing multitude turned and began walking back toward the village. The rest of the day and the school's grounds were reserved for the families of the heroic dead.

The seated mourners slowly began to rise and queue up to file past the monument. Each stood silently before the names that meant the most to them. Some gathered into various vessels a few drops of water that dripped from the marble bird's eyes into a small, shallow collection bowl before spilling over the edge and onto gravel below. Afterward, they greeted and consoled each other, spreading about the grounds, assembling into small groups which dynamically dispersed and reformed anew.

The Weasleys held themselves back and were the last family to arrive at the statue. They arranged themselves into a sort of semicircle before Fred's name for a few moments of silence. Molly and Arthur had silent tears on their cheeks, holding each other for comfort. The Weasley siblings stood stoically around them, gazing at the statue, or the ground, or the sky. They held their arms folded across their chests or with clenched fists firmly shoved into pockets. Annie held George's free hand; each of them still carried a sleeping infant in their arms.

George's breathing started to become irregular as he fought to maintain control. The uneven, jerking movements woke little Art, who reached up toward his father's cheeks with innocent curiosity to examine the tears he found there.

Annie heard George's struggle over the growing clatter within her own soul. Tears were coursing down her own cheeks as she handed the still-sleeping baby Fred to Charlie, then took little Art from her husband's arms to pass off to Ginny. The rest of the Weasleys retreated, leaving George and Annie to grieve in peace.

Annie held her husband in her arms as he gave up the battle for control. George bowed his head, burying his face in her hair, and cried as his trembling hand rested on Fred's carved name. Annie could barely hear his sobs over the cacophony the caged monster was making within her, having now fully awakened. It snarled and howled as she clung to George.

They had struggled so valiantly for a year now, trying to move beyond the crippling grief. Missing the integral part of them that had died in the battle. Trying to fill the gaping hole that existed by loving each other even more. They'd followed everyone's advice to just put one foot in front of the other, worn a brave face for the world. They'd trusted that time would help heal their wounds, help ease their pain. But today – this moment – proved too much to bear.

George and Annie held each other and wept where they stood before the statue.

No one else, it seemed, was ready to leave. Several of the older generation struck up a song, and as more people joined in, the swelling sound of it broke through George and Annie's little shell of sadness. The crowd of voices united in a lovely, sad harmony, drawing their attention away from the turmoil within to the comforting camaraderie surrounding them.

The worst of the grief-squall was spent now – the monster within Annie was quieting down again – and they began to compose themselves in order to rejoin the family.

"Sorry about your hair. I know how vain you are about it," George said with a half-smile as he wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Don't you start with me – I'm in no mood whatsoever," she threatened, but with a timid answering smile and sniffle.

They began to walk together toward their waiting family, hand in hand.

Annie smiled warmly at her very large family that now encircled her, who were all smiling back at her as they embraced each other in turn. Everywhere she looked, there were loving and supportive Weasleys surrounding her. She, who had grown up without parents or siblings, with no one but her grandmother, now had more family than she'd ever imagined possible.

All were smiling except for Fleur, that is. Her usually serenely beautiful face was pale and haggard now, anxiety shadowing her otherwise preternaturally lovely features. Annie wondered when this change had come over her – for she had been seated at the far end of the row from Fleur during the memorial ceremony and of course had been preoccupied since.

"Fleur, are you all right?" she asked worriedly.

Her sister-in-law looked at her with frightened eyes. "I think perhaps I need to sit down," she replied.

Fleur gripped Annie's arm painfully as she helped her into the seat that had just flown to them and settled on the ground. Her grip didn't loosen once she sat, but held tightly for a minute longer. Bill fell to his knees in front of her, beside Annie, staring into her eyes, asking his wife what was the matter.

"The baby. I think it is coming," she whispered.

Of course. Annie should have recognized that look of anxiety in Fleur's eyes. They were a mirror of her own a mere six months ago. Annie hugged Fleur's shoulders, whispering words of reassurance, while Bill yelled for his mother.

Molly quickly deduced what was happening and immediately began barking orders to her sons. Percy sprinted into the castle's hospital ward to alert Madam Pomfrey while Charlie and Bill first helped, then ultimately carried Fleur into the castle. Molly trotted behind them, calling out encouragement and direction.

"No shortage of drama here," mumbled Ginny with a roll of her eyes.

Another long-winded funereal song had finally finished, and the excitement of Fleur being carried off had lightened the mood of the gathering considerably.

"Enough o' this weepin'! Let's have ourselves a proper wake!" someone shouted in a thick Irish accent. Annie recognized the voice – Seamus, wasn't it? – from the "secret" planning meeting held at her home a few short weeks ago. Cheers went up all around as the younger members of the crowd heartily agreed with him.

A month ago, when word had gone out that the Ministry was planning a memorial service to be held at Hogwarts, George and his school chums responded by going into immediate action. Their fallen friends would never be satisfied by an "officially sanctioned" event, they reasoned, so why should they? And when it came to matters unofficial and non-sanctioned, there was really only one man left to turn to, and that man was George Weasley.

Annie recalled the meeting: a dozen or so of George's friends and siblings had gathered at Mole Hill to brainstorm. At first she'd feared that they would try to disrupt the official ceremony in some inappropriate way, and while she agreed with such a sentiment in principle, she was rather tired by now of being a target for official disapproval.

Seamus, whose voice Annie had just recognized, was the one who'd suggested a "proper" Irish wake (for no one could combine political protest with mourning like the Irish, he'd argued), complete with live music, tables groaning with food, and rivers of booze. It was surely the only reasonable send-off, he'd insisted, and everyone at the meeting had agreed wholeheartedly.

They had all pitched in funds – though George and Harry had ponied up the lion's share, being by far the most solvent of the group – and Seamus had contracted the band, who just happened to be one of Fred's old favorites. Ron had enthusiastically volunteered to work closely with the proprietress of a local pub in Hogsmeade regarding the libations. Hermione had then glared daggers at him, for some reason unknown to Annie.

On George's signal (an enormous volley of fireworks, what else?), the band began to play a rousing rebellious tune, exhorting them all to resist authority whenever possible. Kegs were tapped and bottles were drained. Everyone sang and danced long into the evening. Annie had to admit this would have been Fred's idea of a cracking good time.

News came down from the castle several hours into the party, just before the sun set, that Fleur had delivered a healthy baby girl, eliciting a loud cheer and multiple toasts from the revelers. Soon after, Arthur offered to take the twins home to the Hill so Annie and George could stay with his friends.

Annie sat with George within a small group of chairs near the fringe of the party and a good distance away from the band (they'd chosen the quieter spot earlier for the twins' sake). Harry had parked himself there with them, George's younger siblings in tow, most likely to hide out from the majority of the crowd. But the crowd found him nonetheless – nearly everyone in attendance filed by and paid their respects.

George's friends from school came and went all evening long. Many of them she met for the first time, finally putting faces to names she'd heard for years, and her husband introduced her as his wife to each and every one with pride. She giggled at the astonished faces that resulted each of the dozen times he retold the story of how they'd met in the woods of his home when they had been merely seven. How they had secretly exchanged letters via owl post right under the noses of all the professors of Hogwarts. By the end of the night, he was boldly claiming to have fallen in love with the tiny Muggle girl with a bowtruckle stuck in her hair up in that oak tree that very first day.

What a load of crap, she laughed to herself. It took this fool a decade to figure it out.... Though I wasn't much cleverer, was I?

She learned so much from listening to their reminiscing, their stories of school, and the battle tales from the war. She discovered the name of the student resistance group during his last year in school had been "Dumbledore's Army" – George had never told her that before. She could see they all still considered themselves members.

A fellow named Neville fished out some sort of magical coin from his pocket to show her, having something to do with the DA. It was difficult to understand his explanation – or anything that any of the rest of them said, for that matter – as the night was getting late, and they were each and every one of them tanked pretty well up by that point.

Annie and Hermione seemed to be the only sober ones remaining in their now small group. Well, the dreamy girl named Luna might not have been drunk, but she still seemed a bit flighty to Annie, so she couldn't be sure. Annie offered to track down the older Weasley brothers, hoping to find them in a better state to help move the partygoers back to their homes, if Hermione would keep an eye on the group currently assembled.

It was nearly midnight when Annie found Charlie and Percy seated on some steps leading up to the castle. She was relieved, yet mostly unsurprised, to find them both sober and far removed from the festivities. Percy wasn't much for parties that didn't involve schmoozing with Ministry officials, and Charlie always made himself scarce around strangers, she'd learned. She recruited them to help bust up the last tenacious bit of the party, which primarily consisted of every Weasley younger than they and their respective companions.

"Percy, would you mind taking me back home first so I can get things ready for the rest of them? Your poor mum doesn't deserve an invasion of rowdy, stinking drunks tonight," Annie offered.

"Excellent plan, Annie," Percy replied with a prim nod. "Best to keep her in the dark about such shenanigans."

Poor Percy, thought Annie. He could not help but sound pompous, apparently. Her two brothers-in-law rose to follow her back to the party.

"Charlie, can you take Angelina and Lee back to their house?" she asked while they walked.

He shook his head apologetically. "Erm, I've never been to their place before, so...."

"Damn," she muttered. As convenient as it could be, Apparition proved itself rather limited at times. "Oh, well; I suppose it'll be the sofas for the lads and the guestroom for the newlyweds."

They reached what was left of the happy circle of drunks; according to a giggling Hermione, Luna had taken Neville off by herself. The thought occurred to Annie that perhaps Hermione was not quite as sober as she had first assumed.

"Right, let's do this before one of these useless sods passes out," Annie directed. "Hermione, you keep an eye on Harry and Ron until Charlie and Percy come back for them on the second trip. Then you can take Ginny back to the Burrow, and try to keep out of Molly's sight. She won't be thrilled to discover her daughter in this state, to say the least."

"Whaddyamean?" Ginny asked, honestly curious. She apparently couldn't hear herself slurring the words together.

"You're pissed, Ginny, love!" giggled Harry, patting her cheek clumsily as she smiled blearily back at him. He planted a sloppy kiss on her upper lip, then giggled, "Oops. I missed. Shall I try that again?"

Ginny grabbed him with both hands and pulled him toward her. They both fell over onto the ground into a giggling heap.

"Gaahh," Ron groaned, sickened by something. Whether it was the sight of his little sister and his best mate drunkenly slobbering all over each other on the ground or the alcoholic contents of his own stomach was unclear. He leaned over, hands on his knees, and noisily spit on the ground.

"That's disgusting, Ronald," Hermione barked, wrinkling her nose and swatting at him.

"Good luck with them, Hermione," Annie laughed. She'd tugged George up out of his seat and was passing him off to his brother. "Okay, Charlie – have you got him?"

"Have you got me, Charlie?" echoed George, grinning broadly as he leaned heavily into his brother.

"Let's go," laughed Charlie, bracing the extra weight by holding George's arm around his shoulders.

Annie took Percy's arm. A disorienting moment later, Annie was far from the damp, foggy Scottish highlands and in her warm, dry home. She discovered Arthur dozing on the sofa. She gently woke him and let him know he could leave, and probably should, due to the company she now had to prepare for.

"Oh, dear. I suppose I should have seen this coming. Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"You could clear the way for Hermione to bring Ginny back to the Burrow, if you know what I mean," she said, grimacing slightly. She was tossing blankets and pillows on the sofas as she spoke.

Arthur nodded. "Understood. Consider Molly corralled. I'm off," he chuckled as he disappeared.

"I'll take him from here, Charlie," she said softly, moving toward him and George. "Go get the lads now and set them up on the sofas, please. Warn them from me – if either of them chucks in my house, I'll have their miserable guts for garters! And try to keep the noise down, if you can, for the babies' sake."

Annie took George by the waist and one arm to lead him, rather than support him. He was inebriated, for sure, but still managed the stairs just fine. She heard Charlie and Percy pop out of the house behind her. She had just managed to wrangle George into their room and sit him down on the bed before she heard more pops, followed by a bit of scuffling downstairs, announcing the arrival of her houseguests.

"Whassat?" George asked, puzzled by the noise outside their bedroom door.

"Your drunken brother, his drunken best mate, and your drunken accomplices in crime, the Jordans," she informed him. She pushed him down onto the bed and began to undress him, starting with his belt.

"Not tonight, Annie. 'Mm a bit pissed, love," he said in an inappropriately loud voice.

Annie heard Ron giggle downstairs. "Hush! George, be a good boy and cooperate, will you?" she begged in a whisper, but smiling herself as she tugged off his trousers. Realizing too late it would have made more sense to start with them, she began to wrestle with his shoes.

"Give it a firm tug – that's a good girl!" he encouraged, still far too loudly.

More giggles erupted downstairs.

"You are such a pain in my arse!" she complained, laughing quietly. "Help me out, why don't you?"

George sat up and kicked off his shoes, then pants. Meanwhile, Annie went to their bathroom, collected a bottle of aspirin, and a filled a large carafe with water. She returned to find George still sitting up as she left him, gazing at her with slightly unfocused eyes, a silly smile on his face.

"Oh, honey! You're gonna to have a full head tomorrow. Take these and drink as much of this water as you can stand. D'you think you might be sick?" she asked sympathetically as she stroked his hair.

George shook his head as he swallowed the aspirin and downed the glass of water.

"All right, then – lie down and sleep it off, I suppose. I'll be back in a bit," she counseled him.

"Okay, Annie," he said pleasantly and obeyed her without further comment.

Annie walked quickly down the stairs. Charlie was still there, looking up at her as she descended. Two large lumps were motionless on her sofas, draped with afghans knitted by Molly.

"Lee and Angelina seem to know their way around the place, and they're in the back of the house somewhere. Ron emptied his tank before we left Hogwarts. I think Harry's not nearly so bad off – he should be fine," he reported in a whisper.

"Thanks, Charlie. Can I get you anything before you go? There's a bit of a roast in the fridge, if you're hungry," Annie offered.

"Nah. See you later," Charlie said as he walked out the door, headed to the Burrow.

Annie walked the rounds, checking on all her guests, dispensing water and aspirin and wastebins to everyone. Fifteen minutes later, she crawled exhaustedly into her own bed, cringing as she imagined what tomorrow morning would be like with a house full of raging hangovers and rambunctious six-month-old twins.

George rolled over and pulled her closer.

"Not tonight, love – you're a bit pissed," she teased him.

"Maybe just a kiss and a cuddle, then," he murmured, giving her a few soft kisses on her neck and earlobe.

"Go to sleep, George," she urged gently and somewhat reluctantly.

He sighed and flopped his head back onto his pillow, but didn't let go of her. Which was just fine by Annie.

Author's Note: There seems to be some disagreement regarding the year of Victoire Weasley's birth, depending on the website used for source material. I chose for her to be born on the first anniversary of the battle (as does HP Lexicon), keeping her age closer to that of Ted Lupin's.

If you are interested in hearing what I imagined the wake music to be like, please listen to anything by Flogging Molly. None of the following songs had been released by the date of this memorial, but they evoke the spirit of the thing, I think. In particular, take a listen to any (or all) of these tunes:

Rebels of the Sacred Heart

What's Left of the Flag

To Youth (My Sweet Roisin Dubh)

Screaming at the Wailing Wall

Requiem for a Dying Song

(No More) Paddy's Lament

You Won't Make a Fool Out of Me