Igneous Portents

Chapter 51: Igneous Portents

March 2002

Annie was excitedly bouncing her leg while she threw back the last of a bottle of ale.

"What are you so keyed up about?" George asked her as if he didn't know the answer to his own question. They were seated at the dining table inside the tent he had just pitched, finishing up the sandwiches they had made for lunch.

"I'm going for a swim," she replied as she hurriedly stood up from the bench and headed into the bedroom.

Not if I can help it, he chuckled to himself. He predicted it might not be easy to distract her – his wife was maniacal about beaches, after all. The ocean was like a drug for her; he knew it well. And now that they were physically a mere twenty feet away from one of the most beautiful seasides they had ever seen, she would understandably be jonesing for it.

George stood slowly after he finished his own beer a minute later and followed her into the bedroom. He parted the curtain that divided it from the rest of the tent just in time to see Annie tying the last knot of her swimsuit at her right hip. His eyes took in the little red Cymru dragon at her neck, now partially obscured by a delicate string bow, then let them drift down to the larger tattoo at the small of her back peeking above the suit bottom, the sight of which never failed to make him smile. He felt a familiar rush of blood in response to her nearly-nude silhouette. It was warm inside the closed tent, and he shrugged off his shirt.

She bent over, rummaging through her backpack. "Are you coming with me?" she asked him distractedly.

"What are you looking for?" he asked her, not quite ready to own up to his true motivation for getting undressed. It would have only taken him a second to summon whatever she was searching for, but she never asked him to do so. Ever. She was always determined to do everything herself, no matter how inefficient or unnecessary the effort was.

She held up the bottle of sunscreen she had just located as an answer. They both smiled at the private joke, remembering that silly moment at the beach when they were sixteen. What an idiot I was back then, he thought with wry amusement.

Annie began to slather the stuff on her arms, turning just slightly toward him. George caught a glimpse of another tattoo: her most recent addition – the one almost no one else knew about or ever noticed, even though she'd had it now for several years. On the inside of her left wrist was a tiny fox prancing above a string of letters: I.L.M.F.C.W.R.I.P.

In Loving Memory, Frederick Cyrus Weasley, Rest In Peace.

He had the same string of letters wrapped around his upper right arm, just below a sketch of the ruined section of castle that had claimed his twin brother's life. Above the broken battlements that to this day had not been rebuilt – damage from such Dark spells resisted either removal or remediation – were the words "NEVER FORGET." George was not the only male his age he knew with this memorial permanently etched into his flesh; every one of his brothers and the majority of his friends had an almost identical tattoo – some dedicated to Fred, some to other fallen mates – but all were gotten the summer after the first memorial service.

His had been the original, though.

He was only distracted from his purpose for a moment by the thought of his brother, however, as Annie promptly interrupted his thoughts.

"Can I trust you this time?" she asked, tossing him the bottle and holding out her arms horizontally, facing away from him.

"You've never met anyone more trustworthy than me," he said, lobbing her a chance to spar with him. He saw a sly smile spread across her face as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Too easy," she giggled.

He began to spread the lotion across her back, then bent to kiss her neck. It was his go-to spot, never failing to arouse her.

"Focus, love," she encouraged him unnecessarily.

Although she had a different intention, the sentiment was still remarkably appropriate for his ulterior motive. "These are in the way," he said softly, gently tugging on the strings holding her swimsuit in place.

"Trustworthy, eh?" she scolded him weakly, but offering no resistance as her bikini top fell to the floor.

His plan was working. "Just trying to be thorough," he pressed. "You don't want a sunburn now, do you?" His hands were running over her hips, stroking her stomach. He felt her inhale deeply and arch her back slightly as he pulled her closer, her body now resting against his.

"George... I want to swim," she protested as he untied the remaining knots at her hips.

Her stern tone belied the truth her body confessed. She wanted him, not water – as much as he did her at the moment – and he knew it.

"You just ate. You should wait at least an hour," he argued superfluously, nuzzling her ear.

Annie turned to face him and began to untie the drawstring of his swim trunks. "That's an old wives' tale," she said, kissing the base of his throat as his trunks dropped to the floor.

"Better safe than sorry, though," he added, stepping out of them.

He lifted her up as they kissed, and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Briefly, he considered taking her someplace else a bit more adventurous while she was so conveniently portable. The table? The hammock? But then again, they were standing next to a perfectly comfortable bed. They had four more days to take advantage of every other solid horizontal surface of the tent.

He laid her down on the bed, feeling her fingers curl into his hair. George stared into the exotic violet-ness of her eyes. He loved to see that look on her face: the paradoxical expression of relaxed tension, of contented yearning, the impatient anticipation of an ending she was in no hurry to reach. She bit her lip and closed her eyes.

"No one will hear you," he said, reassuring her. He had now developed the habit of including a silencing spell along with all the usual repelling and hiding charms he cast whenever he pitched their tent now. That was one of his favorite parts, after all: listening to her enjoyment.

Annie sighed softly and smiled. Her eyes looked into his as her hips began to move in complement to his own.

And then it was his turn to sigh.

George woke up a couple of hours later when he felt Annie sneak out of his arms and crawl out of bed. "Come back," he muttered sleepily.

She quickly re-dressed into her swimsuit as he watched. "George, some of the world's best surfing is right outside this door, and I, for one, am not going to miss it entirely by spending a lazy day in bed. Plenty of time for sleeping tonight," she argued scoldingly.

"Think so, do you?" he laughed wickedly. He knew she was right however: he could spare time enough to enjoy the delights of this tropical island during the day. He would save further pursuit of the primary goal of this trip for the evening hours.

"It's no use trying to avoid destiny," he called after her anyway as she made her way out of the tent to the beach.

George marveled at Annie's energy level. He felt utterly exhausted and groggy, his brain still struggling with the time difference between Hawaii and Britain. He lay in bed for a few minutes more, his body unwilling to put forth the effort to move just yet, contemplating the strange string of events that had brought them here.

George had been intrigued by a letter he had received two months ago from a farmer on Niihau, suggesting the possibility of opening up trade in magical ingredients between the two of them. George was always interested in the sort of thing this fellow happened to be offering: a new and more powerful sort of explosive. And when Mr. Nui invited him to come see a demonstration in person, a plan began to hatch in his mind: perhaps he could repeat a bit of personal history on another island holiday.

It had been nearly two years since he and Annie had been able to get away – two years since the heavenly vacation on Tenerife when Merrie had been conceived. Their lives had been ridiculously busy in the intervening time since – his time had been absorbed in the Wheezes business, and Annie had been raising their three children as well as nearly everyone else's.

He had taken his wife's suggestion about automation to heart and spent one whole summer inventing several machines that would mass-produce the sweets for the Skiving Snackboxes. And once all the repairs to Hogwarts were complete and the school had opened again for students, it made no sense at all not to expand into Hogsmeade. George now employed more than a dozen people between the two shops and a separate production facility.

Meanwhile, Annie had come to the rescue of their friends and family by coordinating child care for the apparent baby boom that was following the end of the war. It had started when she and George's mother began watching little Teddy Lupin soon after the twins had turned one year old so his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, could work a few days a week at her Ministry job. Teddy had been the perfect playmate for the twins, being six months older, and they remained thick as thieves to this day.

Then Fleur had asked Annie if she would mind watching Victoire as well, thereby permitting her to go back to work. Annie was pregnant herself by then with Merrie, but would never say no to a request from a Weasley in need. Eventually, the crowd of children spending their weekdays in George's house numbered seven, and the rambunctious herd had begun to take a toll on his furniture. Last fall, he offered to build Annie another outbuilding, a rumpus-room of sorts, to house the growing pack of Weasley, Lupin, and Jordan offspring spending the days with her.

She was brilliant at it, of course. Annie was a natural mother, falling easily into the warm, nurturing role. Every one of the children lit up in her presence. She was always willing to play any game they wanted, read another story for the tenth time, kiss away any hurt, cuddle for any reason at all. So wonderful at it, in fact, that they had now both agreed it was time for another of their own.

George smiled and put his hands behind his head in contentment, watching shadows cast by palm fronds dancing on the ceiling of the tent. He could have kissed that little old woman for mentioning it that very morning. He would have to remember to send something special to thank Mrs. Nui.

Mr. Nui, the farmer from Niihau, had invited them to stay last night in his farmhouse following the impressive demonstration of the explosive properties of the local frogs he raised (which had something to do with all the volcanic minerals in the water, he'd explained). After they had agreed to terms and feasted on an enormous and exotic celebratory dinner, he and Annie had collapsed on the sofa bed, exhausted, for they had been awake for twenty-six hours straight at that point. The lanai where they'd slept had been lit with nothing but starlight; George had carefully scheduled their visit to coincide with the approaching new moon.

And then the lucky lightning bolt had hit this morning after a breakfast of eggs and rectangular slabs of tinned meat. Mr. Nui's mother had taken Annie's hand and begun speaking to her in the lilting native Hawaiian tongue while Mr. Nui had translated for them.

"My mother calls you maka nani, which means 'beautiful eyes,' Mrs. Weasley," the genial man had said.

George had been immensely entertained when Annie had blushed beautifully at the compliment.

The old woman had spoken again, followed by her son's translation. "She says that your husband, lulua'ina, which means 'freckles,' loves you very much. You are a lucky woman."

George had been terribly pleased when Annie had nodded in agreement. "Please tell your mother thank you for me," she had said.

"We say 'mahalo,'" Mr. Nui had explained.

"Mahalo," Annie had repeated, smiling at the old crone who was patting her hand as she held it and continuing to chatter.

Mr. Nui had then begun to smile sheepishly. "I hope you are not offended by this, Mrs. Weasley, but my mother says you will leave Kauai with child," he had explained, avoiding eye contact with either George or his wife. "My mother is a very gifted seer, you see," he had added.

"Your mother is very talented, indeed, Mr. Nui! No doubt about it," George had exclaimed, smiling at Annie's astonished face. He had shaken the farmer's hand enthusiastically, patting him on the back, then turned to the fellow's ancient mother. "Mahalo very much, Mrs. Nui!" George had cried, winking at the smiling old witch, who was now cackling in amusement at the two of them.

During the boat ride between the two islands, while Mr. Nui was occupied at the helm, Annie had turned to George. "Did you put her up to it?" she had asked, smiling suspiciously at him.

"How could you suggest such a thing?" George had replied, affecting innocence and indignation.

"Track record, perhaps?"

"I honestly swear that I did not." He had then smiled and kissed her. "However, now that you bring it up, Miss Maka Nani...?" Holding his breath, he'd waited for her response.

"How can I refuse?" she'd answered, gazing out over the ocean. "My husband loves me very much, and I'm a lucky woman, you see," she'd explained with a teasing smile, throwing the old witch's words back at him.

"Then it would seem as though we have a date with destiny, love. How convenient that we happen to be in the right place at the right time," he'd said, barely containing his elation, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her palm.

"Expedient, indeed. Suspiciously so, in fact," she had replied with a broad grin.

Just then, Mr. Nui had called out, directing them to look out over the water to starboard. Two whales had been visible off in the near distance, spectacularly leaping out of the water.

They had waved goodbye to Mr. Nui in the harbor, promising to be in touch soon with the first shipment of unicorn tail hair in exchange for the exploding frog powder. George had then hired one of those ridiculously overloaded American sports cars, almost lewd in its powerful grace, to transport them about the island of Kauai. He had even let Annie drive it first.

As she'd practically flown down the road that followed the mountainous shoreline, throwing the snarling engine into ever higher gears, she had smiled slyly. "I know what you're doing... and it's working," she'd said.

"Good," he had replied.

He'd known being in control of the race car would get her adrenaline pumping. Plus, he'd been counting on the fact that she had even more of a leaden foot than he did, which would get them to the day's destination that much sooner. He'd aided her as much as he could, magically convincing any slower moving traffic ahead of them of a sudden need to pull over.

The beach at the end of the road was divinely beautiful. Nestled at the foot of a towering volcanic wall, the crystal clear azure water met silky soft sand. And here he lay, having just made love to his beautiful wife, with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in his ears. He sighed deeply, contentedly, and contemplated following her to the beach.

They spent the first night of their holiday on the idyllic beach, magically hidden in plain view from the Muggle crowds surrounding them. The next night, they camped to the side of a long, muddy, strenuous trail that had led them through the mountainous rainforest. The sight of the magnificent waterfall had been worth the trek, they agreed, as they washed the mud and grime off of each other in the shower that evening. The next morning, they hiked for miles back the way they had come, then drove to an enchanting bay nearby, pitching their tent once again on the beach and surfing until the sun set.

Every night as a gentle rain would fall, and again in the morning before the sun had a chance to break through the clouds, George would make love to Annie. He was a man on a mission – on a date with destiny, even.

The final day they spent exploring the area, each choosing a tourist activity. Annie wanted him to ride a zipline through a nearby canyon with her in the morning, and George bought tickets for a helicopter tour during the afternoon. That evening, they strolled through a few tourist-trap shops in a tiny village near their campsite, collecting presents for their family and souvenirs for themselves.

"Is it me?" George held up a bright turquoise shirt printed with hula girl dolls that had caught his eye.

"You are colorblind, aren't you?" Annie replied.

"You should get one as well. We'll match," he jokingly suggested.

"No, thank you," she teased. "You are more than capable of embarrassing the family on your own – no need to drag me down with you."

He perused the collection of toys and shells in her basket, all intended for their children. "Aren't you getting anything for yourself?" he asked.

"I have a feeling I already have something to remember this trip by," she whispered, looking at him pointedly.

"Of course you do. That's fate. But I'm talking about a souvenir," he teased her, understanding exactly what she was referring to and fervently hoping she was right.

"The snaps will be enough for me. And the memories," she said with a dreamy smile. She had taken rolls and rolls of film – he had only managed to take maybe a dozen photographs himself; she had been so possessive of the camera.

George smirked at her response. "I'm getting you a shirt," he said decisively.

"Don't waste your hard-earned money," she argued. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing."

"Then do something useful and go get us some ice cream across the street," he directed her, relieving her of the basket. He needed a few minutes alone to remedy the situation, since she was being so uncooperative.

"Only if you promise not to buy those god-awful shirts."

"I promise not to get two," he assured her.

Back at the tent, later that evening, as they swung back and forth in the hammock and ocean breezes fluttered her curls, George handed Annie a small box he'd fished out of his pocket. She opened it slowly: inside were two small, sparkling green stones.

"Those are made in the volcanoes here," he said, sharing the information the salesperson had explained to him.

Annie looked directly at him as she expertly placed the earrings into her earlobes. "They're beautiful," she said, stretching up to kiss him. "Thank you... for all of this," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

They lay in the hammock together for another hour, kissing and watching the approach of the evening's rainstorm as it made its way toward the island. A tiny fingernail-sliver of a newborn moon hung on the western horizon, almost ready to plunge into the ocean. Tomorrow they would pack up their things and be magically transported via Portkey back to their home in Devon. And as much as he missed his daughter and twin sons, George was in no great hurry for this night to end. Tonight he would complete his mission, making love to his wife at least once more in the warm tropical darkness.

Author's Note: Since I can't afford to go to Hawaii, I sent Annie and George. Here's some information with links. Niihau was once a privately owned island, now used by the US government and referred to as the "Forbidden Island," which I thought made a great cover story for the indigenous magical residents. Their first night camping was spent on Ke'e Beach, made popular in the TV miniseries "The Thorn Birds." (Yes, I'm showing my age here.) Then they hiked the Kalalau Trail on the Nā Pali Coast of Kauai, camping beside the trail for one night. The final campsite was on Hanalei Bay's beach. The north shore of Kauai (the "Garden Island") is known for excellent surfing during winter months.

[Author sighs theatrically].