Hiccup

Chapter 58: Hiccup

December 2004 – January 2005

"Once upon a time there were three little kittens, and their names were Mittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet."* George's deep, clear voice carried down the stairway.

Annie heard him reading a bedtime story to their daughters from where she stood in the kitchen, finishing the washing up. The boys had been reading on their own now for three years and were in their beds as well, quietly doing just that. They'd always divided the household labor this way; Annie felt George's time at home before and after work was best spent with his children. Meanwhile, she would be free to take care of whatever other chores needed attention in blessed peace.

A paper bird had bashed itself against the window for ten minutes before George had finally let it in with a black look once their dinner was finished. It now fluttered weakly about her head, and Annie caught the pesky thing easily. It was nearly in tatters, but the message it contained was still readable.

Annie – Sorry to bother you, but I'm running late for a team meeting. Could you take the rubbish out for me tonight? Thanks, Ginny.

Annie sighed – it was the third note this week. First, Angelina had forgotten to wipe down all the tables and counters one night, and could Annie please pop over and do it? Then Fleur had had to run home urgently, could Annie please take care of sweeping the floor? And now Ginny, who was still only pregnant with her and Harry's first but was helping out at the school anyway in the off season for Quidditch, had made the latest request.

Annie had put so much time into the careful scheduling and parceling out of tasks just to keep the "school" – they called it that for lack of a better word – from occupying her every waking moment. Caring for all nine children everyday was exhausting and nearly impossible under normal circumstances without help. Add to that the chance that at any moment, one of them might produce a blast of uncontrolled magic.... Well, she was not thick enough to insist that she, a Muggle, could do it alone (as much as it aggravated her to admit it). Andromeda, Angelina, Fleur, and Ginny had juggled their various work schedules to free up one day a week to spend at the school, helping Annie out with the day to day work involved, and Molly volunteered for the day remaining.

Meanwhile, Annie had taken the lead and begun a more formalized course of instruction for the older children. The effort largely stemmed from the fact the twins had begun clamoring years ago to learn how to read for themselves, and the curriculum had simply grown from there. In addition to the twins, Teddy, Victoire, Roxy, Domi, and Merrie had all begun formal lessons with Annie now.

But every night this week, Annie had found herself back in the large outbuilding George had built to house the daycare – now a one-room schoolhouse of sorts – to finish up at least one final housekeeping task someone had left undone before going to bed herself. She didn't mind too terribly much; none of the tasks had been that big of a deal. But three nights in a row was getting out of hand. She resolved to speak to the others about it right away.

As she pulled on her sweater and headed out the door into the chilly December night, she felt the baby in her belly squirm, bringing a smile to her face. She patted her stomach, smiling to herself, and thought, More than half-baked. By the time she'd reached the school, the poor thing had gotten the hiccups. It was such a funny sensation: the rhythmic spasms coming from within her belly. It made her laugh every time it happened.

Annie emptied the three small waste bins into a large plastic bag and headed toward the back door. She planned to do the same in her house tonight, then drive the load down to the end of the lane in her truck early tomorrow, ready for pickup by the garbage service. If she was a betting woman, though, she'd lay money down that George would likely notice the truck full himself and do it for her unasked. She took a deep breath and pulled the sweater tightly around her, steeling herself for the cold walk ahead.

Suddenly, from out of the blue, a familiar sensation gripped her: a sensation made all the more terrifying in its familiarity. "NO!" she gasped aloud. It's only December. Not due until March.

Annie breathed through the frighteningly strong contraction. It was far stronger than any false-labor pain she'd felt before. But it couldn't be anything else, could it? she argued in her mind. She was just barely seven months along. Not yet....

Annie sat down on one of the tiny children's chairs, gathering her wits, attempting to make some sense of the situation. Maybe it's nothing serious, she tried to convince herself. Just an isolated incident.

At any rate, it was over now. She felt perfectly fine for the moment. The bag of rubbish was not the least bit heavy, so she dragged it along the ground behind her, out of the school and over to the truck.

Bam. Another one. She glanced at her wrist and calculated eleven minutes had passed since the first one. She gripped the side of the truck bed, head bent and eyes closed, waiting for it to pass, then tossed the bag in.

Not yet. Not yet. Oh God, not yet!

Annie quickly walked back into the house and lay down on the sofa. She thought maybe if she just rested for a while, they would stop. Please make them stop, she begged silently. Hang on... hang on... she urged the little life within her.

The baby squirmed once again, almost as if it had heard her thoughts.

George found her there on the sofa in front of the fire, legs tucked up and arms curled around her belly. She was panting through another strong contraction, unable to hide from him the terrified tears beginning to roll down her nose.

George was a veteran of just as many deliveries as she was and instantly deduced what was happening. He dove to his knees in front of the sofa, stroking her hair away from her face with one hand, pressing against her tailbone with the other hand. "When did they start?" he asked when it was over, fright ringing clearly in his urgent, quiet voice.

"Half an hour ago, maybe," she whispered her answer. It was easier to control the panic in her own voice if it was only a whisper.

A breath blew forcefully out of his nose, and his jaw clenched. "How many?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Annie braced herself for his fury. "This is the third...."

"Three?!" he cried angrily. "Why didn't you call for me sooner?"

"I was outside... you were upstairs with the girls... I thought maybe it was nothing serious..." Annie stammered, silently cursing the catch in her voice. Stay calm. Stay positive.

George swore quietly for fifteen seconds straight as he paced the floor in front of the fireplace, and Annie lay motionless on the sofa.

"Okay, here's what we'll do," he said, shifting into battle mode. "You will stay right there. Do not move for any reason, understand? I'll go to the Burrow and get someone to stay with this lot here, then we will go to hospital. Do... not... move!" he commanded her forcefully.

Annie nodded, and her husband disappeared before her eyes.

An instant later, George popped into being directly into the kitchen of the Burrow. Such a thing was the height of rudeness, but he didn't care. "Mum! Dad!" he called out loudly, dashing toward the living room.

"What on earth is it?" cried Molly, nearly frightened to death.

"It's Annie. Something's wrong. Can you come to the Hill right now for the night?" he cried, sounding rather panicked himself. He started to think it might have been a mistake to leave her alone, no matter how briefly....

"Of course. We'll only be a moment, George," assured his father in a calm voice.

George didn't wait to hear any more and Disapparated immediately back to his own living room. He found Annie still curled up on the sofa, eyes closed, exactly as he'd left her. He would have guessed she was asleep, if he hadn't known better. "They'll be here any second.... Let's go," he whispered.

Annie nodded and began to push herself up to a sitting position.

"Don't!" he ordered as he gingerly scooped her up into his arms. As he carried her to the door, he heard his parents popping into the room behind him.

"Is everything all right?" cried Molly in a hushed voice. "Where are you going?"

George couldn't bear to answer the first question. "We're going to the hospital," he answered as he carried his wife out the door.

*

George woke the next morning with a sharp pain in his neck. He'd fallen asleep, he suddenly realized, in the chair beside Annie's bed with his head resting on the mattress next to her. As he lifted and rolled his head, stretching the muscles of his neck as they protested vociferously, he carefully examined her. He was relieved to find her breathing was slow and relaxed, her face was serene as she slept.

Next, his eyes darted to the large machine at her bedside. A long tongue of paper was slowly extruding out of it, adding to the pile already on the floor, and the energetic drumming sound of a fetal heartbeat filled the room. That strongly comforting rhythm must have been what had lulled him to sleep.

They're safe – for the moment. Both of them.

He reckoned last night had been one of the worst of his life. The hospital staff had rushed Annie inside, strapping on electronic monitors and sticking her with needles galore. But it had worked, thank God. They'd been able to stop the labor, for that was indeed what it had been. George offered up yet another prayer of thanks for blessed Muggle ingenuity. He shuddered to think what might have happened without it.

"Mother and daughter are fine now," a doctor had assured him around midnight as he'd scribbled notes onto a clipboard. "If I were you, I'd go home and get some rest."

George had glared at him, grinding his teeth. Then you're an idiotic fucking prick, he'd growled to himself. Nothing in the world could drag him away from Annie's side right now.

Mother and daughter, he said. Another girl. They hadn't known the sex of the baby before last night. George mastered the sting in his eyes that threatened to unman him once again. Please, God, let them be all right. I can't... I can't do this without her.

Sometime around two a.m., a nurse had come in and offered to turn off the sound of the fetal monitor so they could sleep, but George had begged her not to. The reassuring sound of that galloping little heartbeat had been the only thing keeping him sane at the time. Annie had smiled at him in understanding, looking tired, as the nurse had left the room.

"You should rest, though," he'd urged her quietly, stroking her hair.

She'd nodded, closed her eyes obediently, but started a conversation all the same. "I want to name her after you," she'd whispered with another tired smile. "Georgia Weasley."

"What've you got against the poor thing already?" George had snorted dismissively, trying desperately to pretend everything was normal. "We should call her Angharad, name her after her beautiful mother, instead," he'd argued as he'd held her hand, careful to avoid disturbing the IV.

Annie had stuck out her tongue at him then. "You're going to find me very stubborn about this, George. I'm not going to be swayed."

"You don't even know from stubborn," he'd warned his wife softly.

"This argument is far from over," she'd mumbled as she'd drifted off to sleep.

After a deep, lung-filling breath, George yawned and stretched, looking out the window at the sun beginning to wake up. Annie could name their daughter Boo for all he cared, as long as they both were safe and sound. He rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms so deeply into them they forced stars to appear, and considered selling his soul for some really strong coffee. Maybe he could nip over to the waiting area for a second and get some?

There was a quiet knock on the door behind him. George spun around to see his younger brother and sister standing in the doorway wearing worried faces.

"Mum sent us to find out what's happened. Is she all right?" Ginny whispered.

George nodded as they tiptoed inside. "They both are... for the time being," he whispered back.

"Thank goodness for that," his brother offered. Ron handed him a blessed cup of steaming coffee, and George took a foolish gulp, burning his mouth.

"What about the school?" asked Ginny.

George paused in the midst of taking another drink to stare disbelievingly over the rim of the cup at his sister. The school? What about it? Who gives a shrivelfig about the school, anyway?

Before he could ask her what she meant, he was distracted by another knock. Angelina and Lee were standing in the hallway.

"George, we just heard. Is Annie okay?" whispered Angelina.

George nodded. "Both of them are, yes...."

"What will we do without her?" she turned to ask to Lee, interrupting George's explanation. "Who will watch Roxy while we're at work?"

What the hell is going on here? George grumbled to himself. Have they all lost their bloody minds? "Look, everyone, I don't know what's going to happen with...."

Just then, Fleur swooped into the room, descending upon him with an exaggerated hug. "Oh, George!" she exclaimed far too loudly.

George tried to hush her but was ignored.

"We only just heard the news. Poor Annie! And the school! What will happen to it?" she cried in her thick accent.

That did it.

"Excuse me!" he said loudly enough that everyone in the now crowded room stopped what they were doing and stared at him in surprise. "My wife and unborn child are fine, thank you all for asking. And as for that sodding school, I thoroughly intend to burn it to the ground as soon as we get out of this hospital room!" he shouted.

"George!" Annie cried out in alarm, awake now.

"I'm sick of it, Annie!" he cried as he spun around to face her. His temper was fueled further by the sight of her, wired and tubed up as she was, lying weak and exhausted in the bed. "You work like a bloody house-elf in that fucking place, and look where it's got us!" He turned to face the assembly of family and friends. "None of the rest of you can be bothered to lift a goddamn finger!"

"That's not true! Stop this right now, George," Annie demanded.

"It is true! Every night this week, you've been there 'til all hours, clearing up some mess you lot couldn't bother yourselves with," he barked, pointing a damning finger at the guilty looks his audience's faces. "Every one of you seem to forget that Annie can't do magic! What takes you two seconds and a wave of your wand, she has to do with her own hands!"

"That's enough, I said," Annie cried angrily. "The doctor said it's no one's fault!"

"The hell it isn't," growled George, quite certain he knew upon whom the blame should be laid. Doctors don't know everything.

The rest of the crowded room was cowering in shock and shame.

"Oh, Annie! I'm so sorry," whispered Ginny, her lower lip trembling. "I made you do the rubbish last night...."

"Ginny, don't..." Annie sighed, exasperated.

"He's right," said Angelina softly. "We take you for granted, Annie."

"No, you don't, Ange!" she assured her friend. "We've all got to pull our own weight to make it work, me included."

"And you insist on pulling more than your share," scolded George, more softly now, "always so afraid you don't measure up. When are you going to get it through your head, Annie? Magic doesn't make you better. You, of all people, should know that! Maybe I don't tell you often enough how wonderful you are." He took her hand, careful not to disturb the heartbeat monitor on her finger.

"None of us do," Ginny added. "You're amazing, Annie. The best...."

"No one's better with the kids than you are," said Angelina, with Fleur nodding heartily over her shoulder.

"Please don't get upset, everyone. I'm fine, and the baby's fine. We'll work something out about the school in the meantime," she said with forced cheerfulness, trying to redirect the focus away from herself. All this gushing was making her extremely uncomfortable.

"WE won't be working out anything. YOU are not setting foot in that place again," argued George, his voice hard again.

Annie snapped her head around to face him. An imperious tone of voice always got her blood boiling, no matter whom it came from. She glared at him, seething. "If you think you can order me around like that...."

"Not just me, Annie. Those are doctor's orders. You're on bed rest until the baby's born," he commanded.

"I'm not talking about right now. I know that I can't go back until after she's born. But after that...."

"End of discussion, Annie," he warned her in a soft voice.

"Far from it, George," she warned equally softly.

A few moments later, the room was cleared of visitors anxious to leave the now tense atmosphere, and George was alone with Annie once again. Well, almost alone. For some reason, Ron was hovering in the corner, apparently deep in thought.

Is it congenital, George wondered, this gift of Ron's for being intrusive and annoying? He was about to relive some of the stress he was feeling by physically escorting Ron out of the room when his brother finally spoke up.

"You know, George, I was just thinking about something you said."

"What?" George asked flatly, gripping the bedrail tightly in order to avoid breaking something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie had her arms crossed, simmering silently while waiting for Ron to leave, attempting to burn a hole in the far wall with her eyes in the meantime.

"Well, you mentioned something about Annie working so hard. As hard as...."

"I believe I said she works as hard as a house-elf, Ron," George snapped. "So sorry if that offended you," he added insincerely.

"Right. And then I thought, maybe that's the answer."

"Not following you, Ron," George said, losing his remaining pittance of patience rapidly.

"A house-elf. Maybe you should get a house-elf," Ron offered timidly.

"What? Are you mental?" George cried.

"Ron," said Annie, joining the conversation, "thanks for your concern, but I neither need nor want a servant in my home."

George snorted in disbelief. "And you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I'm rather more wealthy than I actually am. Mole Hill is the furthest thing from some posh manor...."

"All right – not for the house, then. What about for the school?" Ron countered.

"For the school?" they both asked simultaneously. Annie and George stared at Ron with stunned looks on their faces.

"Yeah! Why not?" Ron said, beginning to sound excited. "A house-elf could do all the stuff that Annie needs help with: the cleaning, the washing up, even the cooking for the kids. You know, like they do at Hogwarts. They live for that stuff. That way Annie could spend her time just on the teaching bit, see?"

George and Annie now looked at each other, asking silently if the other was seriously considering what Ron was proposing. If it was remotely realistic to expect such a thing could solve the problem now facing them.

"A house-elf could do all that stuff..." mused George, answering her quizzical expression. "But how the hell would we get one? We don't exactly mingle with that sort of crowd now, do we?"

"But we do!" Ron insisted. "Not the way you mean, but still. When it comes to house-elves, I've got connections, remember?"

Annie shook her head, baffled. "What are you on about, Ron?"

"Hermione, of course. Don't you remember? We're all founding members of S.P.E.W.!"

*

And so it came to be that a house-elf was due to begin living with the Weasley family at Mole Hill shortly after the Christmas holidays that year.

Annie's anxiety about the new arrangement was only exacerbated by the fact that, as she spoke separately with Hermione and her husband about house-elves, their accounts differed widely. According to Hermione, house-elves were a race of beings that had been enslaved and oppressed by wizards for ages and longed to be free. She'd made them promise to pay for the elf's services or she wouldn't help them find one at all. George had rolled his eyes but agreed to try to pay... if the elf would take it.

George, however, couldn't disagree with Hermione's assessment of the situation more. "They want to be servants," he assured her as he kept Annie company, lying in bed with her one afternoon. "I don't know why – they just do. I mean, nobody likes being mistreated, including them. And God knows, most of the sodding prats who have them often do exactly that, but they live to serve them anyway. Most of them take quite a bit of pride in the job. Part of the enchantment, I suppose."

"What enchantment?" How interesting that Hermione had called it "enslavement" instead, Annie mused.

"Once they're hired on with a family, they can never leave unless they're dismissed. The bargain lasts for generations sometimes – on both sides," George explained.

"Generations!?" she cried. She'd assumed hiring an elf was a temporary solution to their temporary problem.

George shook his head, then continued. "They can never refuse to do whatever you tell them to do. If the relationship between master and elf is good, then everything is fine. If not, then watch out. Elves can be quite keen at finding loopholes," he muttered, frowning.

Hearing him use the word "master" made her cringe. "This is very odd, George. Are we sure about this? Bringing an elf into our home?" She had only very grudgingly agreed to accept help with the school while she was confined to bed rest, and then perhaps for a few weeks after the baby's birth, just until she'd recovered. Then it was right back to her work with the children....

"No, I'm not," George averred. "That's why we're setting up this whole mad business on a trial basis. We'll see how this year goes and then make a decision."

"A year?!" she shrieked. This was a new wrinkle to the situation.

"I will not continue this discussion until you calm the hell down," George threatened.

Annie took several deep breaths. In as calm a voice as she could muster, she began to speak again. "I never agreed to take a whole year off, George," she said.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're done with it for good, Annie," he replied sternly. "But I know how bloody stubborn you get, so I'm willing to compromise. And a full year was the shortest amount of time any elf would accept."

Annie groaned, massaging her throbbing temples. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"A goddamn bloody mess, that's what," George grumbled.

*

"When is she coming, again?"

"Ron said they'd bring her 'round at ten."

"All right, then," sighed Annie. "I suppose we'd better head downstairs." She threw her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Why don't you let me help you with that?" George offered with a warm smile. He scooped her up before her feet touched the ground.

"I must weigh a ton," Annie giggled as she threw her arms around his neck. "You don't have to carry me all the time, you know."

"But it's very rewarding," he argued, nuzzling her neck behind her ear.

"Please pay attention to where you're going," teased Annie. "It won't help matters much if we both tumble arse over teakettle down the stairs."

A minute later they sat together on the sofa, facing the fireplace, waiting for the arrival of their guests. Molly was already at the school building with her slew of grandchildren. She'd offered to stay with them at the Hill during Annie's confinement as well as help out with the school. Even so, Annie insisted on showering and getting dressed every morning, claiming she felt like an invalid, otherwise. This morning she managed to ready herself in five minutes flat.

"Twenty minutes is all you're allowed, remember?" George warned her.

"That's a completely arbitrary number!" argued Annie.

"Which the doctor imposed upon you for good reason. You're always trying to cheat," he complained.

"I didn't get out of bed once yesterday!" she countered.

"I suppose you think that means you get forty minutes today? It doesn't work like that, Annie," he said impatiently.

Annie's retort – that she was expecting that very thing no matter what he thought about it – was interrupted by a greenish flare of light in the fireplace, and three figures stepped out. Someone looking at their profiles might assume it was a young family, but that assumption would be dashed upon closer inspection of the smallest member of the group.

The thing's no bigger than Merrie, Annie mused. The house-elf had a large red nose, erect ears, and sad brown eyes. She was wearing a neat little blouse and skirt and carrying a tiny satchel. Her face was smiling and nervous, as if she was hoping to make a good impression.

"Welcome to our home, Winky," said George warmly but cautiously, choosing his words carefully as he stood to greet her.

"Thank you, Master! Winky is so very happy to be meeting you at last!" she cried enthusiastically.

"No, Winky. I'm not your master, remember?" George corrected her with a kind but firm voice.

Winky's smile fell from her face, and she hung her head. "Yes, sir. I remember. Winky must prove herself to you for one year before you is trusting her."

Annie and George looked at one another, utterly perplexed. This was not what Annie had expected at all. George shrugged, at a loss as well.

"That's not it at all, Winky," Hermione chimed in, trying to help. "George and Annie are good people and want to pay you fairly for your work. You're a free elf, don't forget."

Winky looked at Hermione with thinly veiled loathing, as if no one could have said anything more insulting to her. "Yes," she said with distaste. "Master – I mean Mister Weasley – may be paying me... if he must."

"We should get going, Hermione," Ron urged.

How unlike Ron to be so perceptive, Annie thought. She smiled her thanks to him as he shuffled a reluctant Hermione back into the fireplace and left.

George knelt down before the little creature, and she looked a bit frightened as a result. "Winky, I know Hermione said that I would pay you, but that's your decision," he said, speaking in the sort of quiet, gentle voice he usually reserved for comforting their children. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. That goes for everything here, understand? Now, do you want to be paid?"

"Not really, no, sir. Such a shameful thing," Winky mumbled, shaking her head, eyes downcast.

"Then that settles it," he said with a nod. "I will put money aside for you each month in order to keep my promise to Hermione. If our arrangement doesn't work out at the end of the year, it is yours to do with as you please. Use it for yourself or throw it in a lake for all I care. If this does work out, and you wish to stay with us, then you can help us decide what to do with the money. Do you agree to this?"

"You is wanting Winky to... to decide all these things?" Winky stared at George, flabbergasted.

George looked pointedly at Annie, searching for confirmation as well as help explaining the situation. They had both agreed to this stipulation, and she nodded.

"Winky, you will decide many things if you choose to stay here," she said. "We will always ask you if you want to do something. It will always be your choice whether to do it or not. You will always wear proper clothes. And you will always be welcome in our home to stay or go as you please. You will never be enslaved here," Annie explained softly.

Winky looked thoroughly confused, her eyes searching each of their faces. "Winky thought you is wanting a house-elf for your family," she said with disappointment. "I is been wanting a family of my own for a long time now. Winky is been missing it so, ever since Master Crouch.... That's why I is agreeing to leave Hogwarts." She began to sniff and blubber a bit toward the end of her speech.

"I'm so sorry about your previous family, Winky," said Annie gently. "My husband explained to me that you're a sort of orphan, like me." Annie knew it was technically true – that she was an orphan herself – but she hadn't felt like one in so long now that it almost felt like a lie to say it.

Winky wiped her eyes and nose with the tissue George held out for her.

After the elf composed herself, Annie continued. "I very much need someone to help me care for our school. I would like to show it to you, if you're still interested in the position. This school is for our own children and a few others as well. You will find we have a very big family to care for," Annie added with a proud smile.

Winky finally looked directly up at her. There was a look of hope on her face at Annie's mention of the word family.

She looks so pitiful, Annie thought. A strong motherly urge to comfort this poor creature came over her. It was hard not to think of the elf as a little child, odd-looking and ageless though she was. Annie gingerly stood up and held out her hand to her. "Will you come with me, Winky?"

The little elf looked at Annie's hand with consternation, then back up into her eyes. Apparently, Annie's behavior was difficult for Winky to understand. Annie wondered what sort of mistreatment she must have suffered in the past to be so skittish of such basic human kindness. Winky took a few moments to consider the offer, then, with a look of determination, took Annie's hand with a curt nod.

Annie and Winky walked hand in hand through the house, out the door, and across the short, frosty walk to the school building. George hovered nervously behind them, ready to snatch his wife away at the slightest inkling of trouble. As he opened the door of the school for them, they were greeted by a blast of warm air and a chorus of children's voices at play.

Winky's eyes grew large at the sight of nine children, the oldest only six years old, running about. Boys and girls alike had been busying themselves with the many toys and games spread about the room. They looked up as one to see who it was that had come to visit them.

"Daddy! Mummy!" cried four of the little children, who then came dashing over.

George moved to intercept them, catching them all in his arms before they could tackle Annie with their enthusiastic greetings. Winky took several steps backward, startled by their exuberance.

"Have you come to play with us?" asked Fred.

"Not just now, I'm afraid. But I promise to come back later after lunch," George offered.

"Mummy as well?" Janie asked eagerly.

"No, not Mummy. She must rest, remember?" George answered the child, but looked pointedly at Annie as he spoke.

"What's your name?" Merrie asked with friendly curiosity, directing her question to the elf. "Have you come to our school to play with us?"

"She's a house-elf, Merrie," explained her elder brother Art. "And she's very old, not a little girl like you."

"Oh," said Merrie, disappointed. "Well, sometimes grown-ups like to play, too," she argued, smiling at Winky.

Tentatively, Winky returned the little girl's smile.

"All right now, off with you! Your Mum is making me do grown-up things this morning," George explained, sighing dejectedly for their benefit. "Promise to save me a game of Slay the Dragon."

The children nodded and drifted away from their parents, back to their games.

"You see, Winky, this is our school room. The children come every weekday to learn lessons and play. Our job is to teach them, feed them, and keep them safe," Annie explained as she led Winky to the kitchen area, then sat down on a chair under George's watchful gaze. "There are nine children now and more on the way." She smiled, patting her growing belly.

The elf looked at Annie sideways, giving her a bashful smile in return.

"Did Hermione explain to you that I am a Muggle, Winky?" Annie asked.

Winky's eyes grew large again, and she looked away in embarrassment, as if she didn't think the question was appropriate for polite conversation. Almost as if Annie had used a crude word. "Erm, yes, Miss."

Annie noted Winky's careful use of formal address. "Does that make you uncomfortable, Winky?" she asked, honestly curious.

"Oh, no, Miss. Winky is understanding many wizards look beyond their own kind for... erm...."

George began to chuckle, causing Winky to squirm with discomfort. Annie shot her husband a look, warning him to desist.

"But Winky is knowing all about the Weasley family, Miss," she cried eagerly, attempting to change the subject to something she thought would be more pleasing to them. "Weasleys is one of the finest wizarding families in Britain! Pure-blooded for many generations!"

George rolled his eyes and snorted. Winky seemed to realize her gaffe then and looked back down at the floor, mortified.

"Yes, well, you will find that the importance of bloodlines matters very little to our family," Annie explained gently. "But the children – all the rest of the family but me, in fact – they are all magical. That's one of the reasons I so desperately need your help, Winky. It's just too much for me to keep up with!"

Annie hammed it up a bit, hoping to sway the elf by playing on her sense of pity. All her reservations about adopting a strange magical creature into their lives, all her resistance to accepting help with the school were melting away. Replacing them now was a strong urge to give this little elf a loving home.

"Yes, I is seeing how much Miss needs my help," Winky nodded, scanning the room around her. "Winky finds it hard to believe you is managing so long without her."

"Does that mean you agree to help us, Winky?" Annie asked her, employing a pleading, hopeful voice.

"It would be an honor to serve the House of Weasley, Miss." Winky smiled generously and nodded.

"Thank you very much!" Annie exclaimed, barely stifling a giggle at Winky's lofty idea of her household. House of Weasley, indeed. She glanced at George, who was pressing his lips together as well in an attempt not to laugh out loud.

"We're so pleased to have you with us!" Annie cried enthusiastically. "Welcome to our family, Winky! We hope you'll be very happy here."

* From "The Tale of Tom Kitten" by Beatrix Potter