Snow Angel

Chapter 53: Snow Angel

December 8, 2002

George woke up early one December morning to the sight of snow falling outside his window. The clouds were a heavy, leaden grey, and the trees in the distance were bending before a strong wind. The ground was covered in a thin layer of white. The landscape looked positively frigid.

Wrapping himself around the comfortably convenient human heat source beside him, he lightly placed his hand on his wife's burgeoning belly. He was rewarded with a strong kick that brought a smile to his face.

"Ouch," Annie muttered sleepily. "If you two are going to fight, kindly leave me out of it," she added after yawning.

George and Annie and their unborn child snuggled quietly for fifteen more minutes in their warm cocoon. He was lightly dozing when little Merrie climbed into bed behind him. She burrowed herself down under the quilt, shoving her shockingly ice-cold little feet underneath, and making him gasp quietly. As sweet as his little girl was, this was an all-too-common rude awakening lately.

This winter promises to be an unusually bitter one, he mused. Almost Scottish in nature, if memory serves. Ugh.

Annie inhaled sharply. "Ooh. That's a good one."

George agreed as he felt the flesh of her belly underneath his hand tighten for half a minute, then slowly release. Each time it happened – and it had happened often lately – his heart started to race. Annie was due any day now, and Braxton Hicks contractions had been frequent over the past two weeks. Maybe this is finally the real thing, he thought excitedly, eager to meet their fourth child.

But Annie rolled out of bed, donned an enormous Molly-knitted jumper that stretched taut around her abdomen, and toddled down the stairs to begin fixing breakfast for everyone as if nothing was amiss. George grew more disappointed as the early morning slipped by and the dim light brightened slightly; a birth was apparently not imminent. Despite a few more strong contractions – and Annie was dutiful in reporting them, not wanting to be accused of "hiding her labor" a third time – nothing came close to resembling a regular schedule.

According to the radio weather reports, a powerful winter storm was set to descend upon southern England that day, and the weather forecasters were predicting more than a foot of snow in some areas. And while the weather made no difference at all to George's daily commute, the thought of Annie being left alone in stormy Devon while he went to work in London made him especially uneasy. He decided on the spot to take the day off instead, popping into the shop in Diagon Alley only long enough to tell them his plan.

"Not a problem, George. I've got things well in hand here," Verity assured him. "Doesn't look to be too busy here today. And say hello to Annie for me."

"Will do and thanks," he called, then dashed back out the door, down the frozen street to the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. Unlike in Devonshire, it hadn't started snowing in London yet, but the sky was threatening. George reckoned perhaps three or four inches had accumulated on the ground back home already.

He returned to the Hill just in time to see Annie and their kids bundled up at the back door, ready to head over to the oversized playroom next door. He jogged to catch up, calling for his family to wait for him. Then he took Annie firmly by the arm, the better to steady her as she walked, just in case the snow might be slippery.

He started off the morning by playing crash-up derby with Teddy and his sons, bewitching several large plastic cars to bash each other to bits, reassemble, then do it all over again to the endless entertainment of the three boys (and himself as well, he confessed). He was now listening to the silent heartbeat of a stuffed dragon as Merrie looked on.

"Is she okay, Daddy?" Merrie asked in her funny baby's voice, her tongue challenged by forming the sentence.

He understood her even though she mispronounced every word but "Daddy." George found it amusing how being a parent had forced him to be an interpreter of sorts. Over the past few years, he had become quite fluent in several dialects of toddler-ese.

"I dunno Dr. Merrie. You listen," he offered. The toy stethoscope stretched between both their ears.

"Yep. She's okay. But she must take loads of nasty medicine, right, Daddy? She's very ill," Merrie counseled him, serious concern clouding her features.

"That's probably for the best, yes," he agreed, smiling with silent laughter as his daughter forced the toy to ingest several pints of foul, imaginary potions.

His niece, Dominique, nodded solemnly, wearing a dour scowl on her face and a sparkly, feathery tiara on her strawberry blonde head, hovering over the patient. Roxanne Jordan, decked out in similar mismatched finery consisting of a ruffled apron and caution-orange hard hat, stood by. The three of them always move in a pack, George remarked to himself.

"There you are, Snorty," Merrie said, lovingly patting the dragon as she laid it on a makeshift bed. "Let's find some more poor, sick creatures," she suggested to Domi and Roxy, taking them by the hands and leading them to a shelf crammed full with more stuffed animals.

"This giraffe looks peaky to me," offered Domi, grasping it firmly by the neck.

"I think the frog has spocks," lisped Roxy, swinging it by its elastic tongue.

"You lot start work on these patients; I'm going to check on lunch," George directed the little girls as he heaved himself up off the floor. He headed toward Annie and Fleur, who were busy in the kitchen fixing lunch for everyone.

It was Fleur's regular day off from the bank, which she spent helping Annie out at the co-operative daycare in exchange for Annie and the other mothers watching her own children the rest of the week. George had put his foot down a couple of years ago, insisting that they all help his wife out, arguing that it was impossible for her, a Muggle, to handle seven magical children by herself. Annie had grudgingly agreed and now coordinated a schedule whereby Fleur, Angelina, and Andromeda would alternate one day of the workweek to share in the child-watching duties. Molly graciously agreed to help the remaining two days, claiming she was thrilled to spend the extra time with her grandchildren and their dear friends.

George took a moment to watch the women working efficiently together, assembling plates of sandwiches, apple slices, peas, and dollops of yogurt for each of their charges. Fleur was about five months pregnant, if he wasn't mistaken – she was due sometime in the spring but never really showed much until the very end. Annie, on the other hand, was as round as if she'd swallowed a Quaffle whole and had been so for a good while.

"What's to eat?" he asked, reaching out toward a pile of biscuits on a plate.

Fleur lashed out and slapped his hand. "That's for after you eat your lunch," she barked.

George looked at his sister-in-law in frozen shock as Annie laughed out loud.

"Oh, I am sorry, George!" Fleur cried, his name sounding more like Zhorzh in her still thickly-accented English. "It is habit, you know, with the children. Forgive me!" she pleaded, handing him several cookies.

George eyed her warily as he accepted the tokens of apology, then moved quickly out of arm's reach. Munching on them, he strolled to the window in order to survey the storm's progress. As noontime approached, the weather had definitely worsened. The amount of snow on the ground had easily doubled in the past couple of hours, and it was falling even heavier and faster now. Strong gusts of wind rattled against the side of the building.

"That's beginning to look a bit dodgy, if you ask me," he mused aloud to no one in particular. He silently congratulated himself for deciding to stay home today. This was definitely no time for Annie to be stranded home alone.

After the children had been fed their lunch, the three adults sat together at a tiny table, sipping tea and watching the snow fall outside as the children napped in cots before the roaring fire.

"I wonder if it is this bad at Shell Cottage?" said Fleur, sounding a bit worried.

George shrugged. "Want to go over to the house and hear the weather report?" he offered.

"No, merci," Fleur said as she shook her head. "I might take the girls home a bit early, though, if you don't mind, Annie."

"Not at all, Fleur. I don't blame you one bit," Annie replied.

About an hour later, as the children were waking from their naps, George's mother stomped into the building. Snow blew in behind her, and her grandchildren tackled her with excited hugs and cries of, "Granny!"

"Oh, George! I'm glad to see you here. I was just coming to offer to go collect you for Annie," she said amidst a flurry of childish kisses. "I haven't seen snow like this since that blizzard when you lot were little yourselves," she mused aloud.

George and Annie smiled at each other for a moment with the shared memory. It was a little sad for both of them, reminding them of the one who was no longer there. George looked out the window, lost for a bit in the remembrance of his brother and the toboggan.

"Come and see the animal hospital, Granny," he heard Merrie squeal. George turned away from the window and his memory to see her dragging his mother to the collection of animals laid out on blankets.

"Oh, dear! I do hope nothing's contagious!" Molly exclaimed for her granddaughter's benefit. Then she directed herself to her son. "Perhaps you should contact Lee or Angelina, George, and warn them about the state of things here. Might be best if everyone gets home early today," she called across the room to him.

George understood this was a suggestion only in the loosest sense of the term. His mother seldom issued anything but commands or accusations, regardless of the phrasing – and such was particularly true whenever she was addressing him. But in this case, he happened to agree with her.

"You might be right," he conceded. Although the weather mattered little to the Jordans, traveling as they would be by Floo Network, George was anxious to get his own family settled snugly back into their house before things got much worse outside.

It would do no good to contact Lee at work at the WWN – if he was on the air as scheduled, there would be no opportunity for him to leave. George conjured his Patronus and watched as the falcon vanished again into thin air with a message for Angelina to come fetch Roxy as soon as she could get away, due to the worsening weather.

"Whoa," muttered Annie, her hands clutching at her abdomen. "There's another one," she added, smiling at George. He glanced at the clock: four p.m. It had been six hours since the last contraction.

"Wouldn't it be just our luck if you went into labor tonight?" he chuckled unthinkingly.

"Well, thanks for jinxing it, git," she muttered, glaring weakly at him.

"That is a complete misuse of the word 'jinx,' as I've explained to you a hundred times," he teased her.

"Have you ever considered maybe you lot are the ones misusing it?" she argued petulantly.

"Hmm. Let's examine that theory for a moment, shall we? Which population is most likely to correctly use the word 'jinx': wizards who actually perform them or Muggles who are clueless to the entire business?"

"All right," Annie laughed. "You've made your point."

"Too right, I have," he laughed with her.

Three hours later, George was no longer laughing at anything. Snow was falling furiously, the wind was howling, and Annie had continued having contractions, which had become stronger and more regular throughout the rest of the afternoon into the early evening.

He had made her lie down while he fixed dinner for their kids. With the children seated at the table, eating spaghetti with meatballs – his one and only specialty – he crept upstairs and into their darkened bedroom.

"So?" he asked.

He could just make out Annie nodding in the dim light as his eyes adjusted. "This is definitely the real thing. I told you that you jinxed me, idiot," she argued teasingly.

"How far apart are they?" He couldn't help feeling elated by the promised birth ahead, despite the anxiety caused by the weather situation.

"Still only about ten minutes," she assured him.

Plenty of time yet, he reckoned to himself. "I'm going to fetch Mum," he explained. "You stay here; I'll only be gone a moment. The kids are eating downstairs – they'll be fine."

"It's the kitchen I'm worried about, not them. You made spaghetti, I assume?" she scolded him while giggling.

"Excellent guess," he chuckled. "I'm off...."

A minute later, he had arrived back at Mole Hill with his mother in tow, then rushed back upstairs to collect Annie. Molly was in the process of cleaning off her three grandchildren, who had applied tomato sauce like it was war paint onto their faces and hands, as George helped Annie down the stairs. "Why in Merlin's name did you make them this, of all things?" his mother asked, astonished at the mess.

"Are you surprised that the only thing George knows how to cook happens to be the messiest meal possible?" giggled Annie as she gingerly made her way down the stairs.

"You certainly picked quite a night for it, Annie," Molly teased back.

"Not me.... George's fault," she said as she eased herself off the bottom stair then hunched over slightly, leaning against him, letting another contraction do its work.

His mother looked at him with suspicious curiosity, and George instinctively winced slightly. He pressed his thumbs against the base of Annie's spine, trying to do what he could to help her through the contraction. "I might have mentioned something this afternoon about it being funny if she went into labor tonight," he confessed.

"Men..." his mother muttered, shaking her head. "Well, it's not fit for mountain trolls out there, so you'd best get a move on before it gets any worse. Good luck to you, Annie, and keep us posted, George," she called out after them as they walked slowly toward the door.

George lifted Annie up into the Toyota just in time for another contraction to start. Annie dropped her chin to her chest and panted through it, gripping the dashboard as she sat on the edge of the seat. He tried to rub her lower back, but the angle was wrong, and he sensed it wasn't helping at all.

"We'll be there in a couple of minutes," he said, attempting to reassure her.

Annie nodded.

It took fifteen minutes just to get to the end of their driveway, however, and another forty-five to drive the five miles to the hospital. George could easily blast through the drifts of snow along the narrow roads with his wand, but was at a loss when their old Land Cruiser got stuck twice on icy patches. The wind was so bad, the ice re-froze as fast as he could magically melt it.

As the wheels of the car spun uselessly for a third time, he threw up his hands in surrender. "That's it!" he yelled, pounding the steering wheel for good measure. "I give up! We're Apparating to the bloody hospital!"

"We can't abandon the car in the middle of the road, George!" Annie argued, breathing deeply. He was no longer sure if it was due to a contraction or frustration with his ineptitude. "Just get out and push, and I'll drive," she ordered.

He started to shake his head in disagreement. A laboring woman was in no condition to be behind the wheel....

"JUST DO IT, DAMN IT!" she yelled, kicking open her door and sliding out of the seat.

"FINE!" he shouted back, dashing out his own door and running around the front of the car to intercept her. He intended to hold on to her to make sure she didn't slip. But he fell twice trying to get to her, bruising his hip and possibly fracturing an elbow in the process. The wind drowned out the steady stream of profanity pouring forth from him.

Meanwhile, she walked carefully on her own, holding on to the hood with both hands, without incident.

Annie drove the last mile to the hospital herself, and it only took five minutes. While she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, her cheeks billowing as she panted through two contractions while keeping her foot steady on the accelerator, George sat in the passenger seat, holding his throbbing arm close to his side, muttering useless things like, "Careful!" and "Watch it!" As they parked in the lot near the emergency entrance, George dove out of the car before it stopped rolling completely, nearly getting himself run over, and scrambled around to the driver's side to help Annie climb out.

"Here we are. Everything will be fine now. Let's just get inside," he said, leading her toward the automatic doors while walking with a slight hobble. Now we're safe, he sighed, relief beginning to settle in.

They had just stepped inside when all the lights went out.

"Oh, you have got to be KIDDING ME!" bellowed Annie.

"Not to worry! The back-up generator will be on in a sec," cried a nurse as she rushed over to them. Several flashlights flickered on around her.

They made their way inside, and Annie was undressed in the dark, given a bed to lie on, and examined. "Goodness... eight centimeters... you got here just in time!" the nurse exclaimed a moment later. As she dashed out of the room to fetch the delivery team, the lights began to flicker back on.

"See, everything is gonna be fi–" George began before he was abruptly silenced by his wife clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Not another word, George!" she commanded through gritted teeth. "Do not jinx another thing! Keep your bloody mouth shut... darling," Annie cried, adding the last word to try to soften the blow.

That was when the ridiculousness of the situation hit him, and he began laughing hysterically. The nurse looked at him in alarm, which only made him laugh harder.

The next morning dawned bitterly cold and grey, but the snow had finally stopped falling. It was piled in drifts, sculpted into graceful, poetic curves around rock outcroppings, trees, and tufts of grass. If anyone had bothered to look out the window of their hospital room, they would have seen nothing but a barren, ugly rooftop anyway – a point made moot by the fact that the glass was frosted over entirely.

But George and Annie never noticed. They only had eyes for their newborn daughter: tiny, pink, and lovely. Like the rest of her siblings, she'd been born with dark blue eyes which were destined to turn brown and downy reddish hair that formed a ruddy halo around her perfect head. The three of them huddled together in the warm nest that was the hospital bed.

"You've evened up the score, little one," Annie whispered as the infant girl began to nurse again.

"For the time being," George added with a smile and a wink.

They had discussed names quite a while ago. George had wanted to name their next child, male or female, after Harry. "He saved Ginny's life, he saved Dad's life, and he's saved Ron about a hundred times by now. Because of him, you and I don't have to hide or live in fear for our kids," he had claimed with fervor. "And that doesn't even cover the fact that he staked me and Fred in the beginning."

Annie had agreed without argument, adding that if they had a girl, she wanted to name her Jane as well, as tribute to all her dear friend had done for her – for them both, really – over the years.

"Welcome to the world, little Harriet Jane Weasley," Annie said, gently stroking her daughter's rosy cheek with her thumb. "We're so very happy you're here."