Genius

Chapter 63: Genius

July 2005

Three days later, Annie stood with her husband and sons in the shadow of the enormous castle. She had only been here once before – six years ago, for the memorial service. She had understandably paid very little attention on that day to the imposing structure now before her. But today, as she gazed at the hulking edifice, her courage nearly failed her.

There's not a chance in hell I'd abandon my children here to spend their childhoods in this monstrosity, she swore to herself. They'd be lost inside a week in this jumbled mess of turrets and towers!

George, seemingly sensing her anxiety, squeezed her hand. "Dear old Hogwarts!" he exclaimed cheerfully with an excited smile.

Annie wasn't sure if it was more for her benefit or for that of their uncharacteristically silent twin boys. She wondered if perhaps they also felt intimidated by the behemoth towering over them. They looked up at their father's face and smiled in response, encouraged by his tone.

"Come on, then. Mustn't be late," he prompted them.

Annie nodded briskly. "We've got to make a good impression today, boys. And please, for the love of Mike, don't accidentally burn it down," she teased, plucking up her own courage.

"Unless Professor McGonagall asks you to," George amended.

"And then, by all means, blast the bloomin' thing to smithereens!" she laughed as they trudged up the stairs to the entryway.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear Weasleys!" a dark figure called out from the doorway in a lilting brogue.

Annie immediately recognized the elderly witch from the memorial service. Apparently the dark, somber robes she had worn then were what she wore everyday, not just something donned for the solemn occasion so long ago. She looked like every cartoon caricature of a witch that Annie had ever seen, lacking only the green skin and warts.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," George replied. "Say hello to the Headmistress of Hogwarts, boys," he instructed his sons.

"It is very nice to meet you gentlemen," she spoke gently, bending down to their level. Annie was greatly relieved to see such kindness directed to her sons from the otherwise intimidating witch. "Now, if you please, which one of you is Arthur?"

"I am, Professor," Art spoke up with perfect politeness, offering his right hand to her.

Annie smiled at his bravery.

"And I am Fred, of course," added his twin, hand also extended.

"My goodness. Such very grown-up young fellows," McGonagall exclaimed. She cast a look of impressed surprise at George, who was biting his lips in an effort not to laugh out loud. "And you must be Mrs. Weasley," she added, looking directly at Annie, who nodded as she shook her hand.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, this is my wife, Annie," George rushed to say.

"I understand you've started a magical infant school down in Devon? I must say I was thrilled to hear of it. High time somebody did. You'd be shocked, I'd bet, to see the state of some of the students I get here. Some of them can barely read, for heaven's sake! It's absolutely scandalous! Apparently some parents think all you need to get through life is a wand," Professor McGonagall exclaimed as she ushered them inside.

"Erm... well, yes. A few of us parents have formed a co-operative of sorts together, sharing our expertise, that sort of thing. Most of them work at the Ministry and manage to juggle their work schedules to help out one day a week," Annie explained. The five of them were strolling through the cavernous entryway, and Annie found it somewhat difficult to concentrate on the conversation as her eyes roved over the castle's interior for the first time.

"But you are the day-to-day teacher, correct?" McGonagall pressed.

"Oh, erm, yes. Just the basics, of course. Reading, maths, that sort of thing. I'll be back to it full time this fall," she explained, glancing at George to judge his reaction. They had never really fought about anything else during their entire marriage, and as much as she hated to cross him, she had refused to give up the school.

George gave her a half-smile, reassuring her that their compromise decision still stood.

"Mr. Weasley told me yesterday that you were able to teach these young ones to read at... well, he claims they were three years old!" the elderly woman said, her doubt displayed clearly on her smirking face. They had reached what Annie thought looked like a large classroom, and they filed through the entrance as Professor McGonagall held the door open.

Annie nodded with a bashful smile but was exempted from making any further explanation by her sons.

"Oh yes, Professor. We've been reading for ages. My favorite sorts of books are the ones about Muggle machines like steam engines and construction vehicles!" cried Arthur.

"Really? And what about you, Fred?" McGonagall asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, I like those as well. I read one yesterday about making potions, though. I think I'd like to try that," he spoke with all the seriousness a six-year-old could muster.

"And what were you doing in my library, young man? I thought I made it very clear you are not allowed," said George sternly.

"It wasn't your library, Dad. It was Grandpa's! There's no rule about Grandpa's books!" Fred retorted.

George sighed in frustration. Technically, his son was right. And he should have seen such an obvious loophole himself much sooner than this. I must be losing my edge, he thought ruefully. Annie giggled softly at his side, and McGonagall smiled with amusement herself.

"Well now, boys, please take a seat. Has your father explained to you why you're here today?" Professor McGonagall asked them.

Both boys nodded. "Dad says that you want to see if he's full of...."

"Art!" barked George, cutting his son off just in time.

"Dad told us you'll ask us questions," Fred explained now that his brother had been shushed into silence.

"And ask us to do magic," Art added, more subdued this time.

"To see if we can come to Hogwarts," concluded Fred.

"Would you like to come to school here, then?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Oh yes, please!" exclaimed the boys in unison.

"We even know the song!" cried Fred.

"Do you now?" chuckled McGonagall. As the boys began singing, she waved their parents out the door, whispering for them to return in about an hour and a half.

George quietly closed the door to the classroom. He took Annie's hand and led her off down the hallway. "Fancy a tour, love?" he whispered.

Annie smiled and nodded conspiratorially.

"But no funny business, mind. Show some restraint for once and keep your grabby hands to yourself," he teased, swatting her on the rump.

"You are such a troll! Some things never change, I suppose," she muttered.

He stopped just outside a very familiar door and sniffed. "Smell that?"

Annie inhaled, then screwed her face up from the stink. "That's awful!"

George knocked quietly on the door, then gently tried the doorknob. Finding it locked, he reached sneakily into his pocket and pulled out his wand.

"Please don't get us in trouble!" Annie pleaded. "You have your sons to think about, now!"

"Shh!" he hushed her, then with a silent Alohamora, opened the door to Filch's office. It was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the names on the filing cabinet. "Come see this," he whispered, dragging her into the dim room behind him and closing the door quietly.

Annie's eyes grew wide as he opened the drawer labeled "Weasley, F. & G." They each combed through the folders and parchment documents for a few minutes. He pulled out one of them to read: this one immortalized the dozen Dungbombs in the prefects' bathroom incident, second year.

"My God, George! Did you ever even set foot inside a classroom while you were here?" she whispered in amazement. Even so, her voice sounded funny; she was holding her hand up to her nose to ward off the stench that permeated the place.

"Not if I could help it, no," he chuckled. "I can't believe he's kept this rubbish for nine whole years!"

He and Fred were responsible for a sizeable number of amended rules for this place, George reckoned with no small amount of pride. They had spoiled a good bit of the fun for future generations. It was part of the reason he worked so diligently each year to introduce new, creative ways for his young customers to get in to trouble: he felt he owed it to them, having personally ruined so many other good opportunities.

Suddenly, they heard a loud crash behind them in the hallway. Annie slammed the file door shut and spun around, looking criminally guilty. George nearly burst out laughing at the stricken look on her face.

"Filch-ee! Filch-ee! Come and see! Sneaky buggers in your office!" cried a cackling voice from just beyond the door.

Annie dove into George's arms, roughly shoving him back into a dark corner. "Hide us, you idiot!" she hissed urgently.

"Sneaky creepies in the summer?" The voice was inside the room with them now. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, cheeky chums."

George couldn't hold it in anymore. An odd, snorting chuckle escaped him.

"What's this?" cried the voice, blowing a blast of air that scattered all the parchments on the desk to the floor.

George felt Annie's grip around his body tighten further, her face buried against his chest.

"Red-haired rotten so and so? Bless my stars and garters, if it isn't... GEORGE WEASLEY!" A hovering spirit-being materialized in front of him and doffed his hat in respectful salute.

"Peeves! Pipe down!" George cried, his stern tone undermined by the laugh that accompanied it.

Annie began to loosen her grip on him slightly, allowing him to take a full breath at last.

"Oh, sir! Such a great honor to see you again!" Peeves cried, punctuating his greeting with a loud farting noise. "Has Filch had you locked up in the dungeon all this time? Are you starkers?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm not a student anymore, Peeves," George tried to explain.

Annie lifted her head and began to peek around, trying to make out what exactly was addressing them.

"So, what you doin' here, then?" demanded the poltergeist petulantly.

"I've brought my sons today," George replied.

Peeves' eyes grew wide, and he blew a loud raspberry, violently dousing them both with some sort of unpleasant wetness. George didn't want to think about what it might be.

"What stupid cow would marry your manky mug?" Peeves demanded.

"This one," George laughed, pointing at Annie's now dripping form still wrapped around him.

Peeves snorted. "Whassa matter wif 'er? Don't she talk?"

"Good question. I usually have trouble shutting her up," George teased, then winced in pain from the sharp pinch beneath his ribcage.

"Hey, girlie! Are you stupid? Izzat why you got stuck wif 'im?" Peeves shouted at her.

Annie had turned fully around and was now face to face with Peeves' leering visage. "Can't you make it go away?" she whispered to George. "Whatever it is...."

"HA!" screamed Peeves, blowing another gust of stale air right into her face. "Peeves answers to no wizard! Stupid girlie!"

"Is that the Baron I hear?" asked George, feigning innocent curiosity.

Peeves zoomed away in an instant, once more scattering all the parchments in the smelly office.

"Should we try to straighten this up?" Annie asked, attempting to wipe some of the gunk from her clothes with some parchment. Her face was a perfectly even mixture of confusion and revulsion.

The whole thing was rather entertaining indeed, and George chuckled once again. "What's the point? At least this way, Filch'll blame Peeves, not us," he reassured her. "Tergeo," he said as he waved his wand over them both, removing the poltergeist residue far more effectively than the parchment did.

"Shall we move on?" he asked her after they were presentable again.

"Yes, let's," she giggled.

George led her down the corridor back the way they had come until they reached the large double doors of the Great Hall. "This is where we ate," he explained, sliding his arm around her waist. "It's where all your letters were delivered to me," he whispered in her ear, pleased when a bashful smile spread across her face and a faint blush graced her cheek. "Each morning the owls would fly in from over there," he pointed to a far wall where a louvered door was visible just under the ceiling.

Annie's eyes grew large again as she took in the enchanted ceiling. She stood watching it for a whole minute, flabbergasted, while George looked around the room himself, remembering seven years worth of feasts and Sortings.

"Is this where you got the idea... for their rooms?" she gasped with wonder.

"I told you mine sucked in comparison," he laughed ruefully while nodding. He had attempted to similarly bewitch the ceilings of both the boys' and girls' rooms at home, but had never managed to figure out how to link them to the actual sky in real time. Instead, each ceiling was animated with a scene, much like an idle computer screen, which he would switch out upon request or as the whim struck him. Currently, the girls' room's ceiling was full of fluttering butterflies, and the boys' room had the view from the deck of a pirate ship.

Annie looked at him in surprise. "Yours are just as wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I love them!"

George smirked, but was quite pleased with her reaction. His ceilings would seem pretty impressive, he supposed, to a Muggle. "Come on.... Lots more to see and little time to do it in," he said while pulling her back out of the hall. "I suppose you want to see Gryffindor Tower now, don't you?"

"Could we?" she asked with an eager smile.

"We'll see... I've no clue what the password might be," he mused. They began to trudge up the first staircase. "First floor: Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic. I suspect Binns is in there lecturing as we speak. He doesn't seem to mind that no one's been listening to him for more than a century," he joked as Annie laughed.

"He's the literally dead boring bloke, right?"

"Excellent memory, love!" George praised her. "And here we are at the second floor. Not much here but the Headmaster's... I mean Headmistress's office. Best not to be too familiar with that particular floor," he said mischievously as they continued to trudge up the grand staircase.

"Third floor, and we'll take a bit of a breather here," he said since both of them were slightly winded. He directed her gaze by pointing down a corridor as he placed his cheek next to hers. "See that statue of a wizard there? Just behind him is the tunnel we found during our first week here," he informed her.

George fell quiet as he thought about another statue, another tunnel that used to be just around the corner. Both statue and tunnel were gone now, the corridor foreshortened when it was walled off during the repairs. Now a large window looked out upon the ruined portion of the castle; the Dark destruction of that battle had been irreparable by magical or mundane means. He stood quietly, just breathing, bracing himself for the crushing weight of grief that usually came whenever he thought of the events of that night.

"Oh God, George.... It was here, wasn't it?" she asked, spinning around to face him.

His unfocused gaze came to rest on Annie, now worriedly searching his face, her eyes full of concern. Of course his clever wife would figure it out so quickly: that at that very moment, they were standing mere yards away from where Fred had met his end.

"Come on, let's keep moving," she rushed to say. She took both his hands and began trying to pull him up the next staircase, walking backward herself. Her eyes were beginning to tear up – whether in sympathy for him or due to her own grief, he wasn't sure.

"Annie, it's okay," he said softly after following her nearly halfway up the staircase. "I'm okay. Surprisingly... I'm okay," he reassured her.

And he was surprised. The dark depression that usually descended upon him whenever he contemplated Fred's death hadn't come, maybe wasn't going to come, after all. In its place there was... a little sadness, yes, but otherwise... nothing. Blessed nothing. It had taken eight years, but finally, just maybe, the wrecking grief was over.

George smiled at Annie. "I'm okay," he repeated, planting his feet.

She took his face in her hands – she was standing on the step above him, which brought her nearly level to his own height. "Good," she said simply, earnestly, then pulled him closer for a kiss.

They had almost forgotten where they were when the staircase they were standing on began to move. Annie lost her balance, tumbling onto her backside with a startled squeak, and pulled him down with her.

"Did I forget to mention the staircases move?" he laughed as he tried to right himself.

"Yes, you did forget that minor detail," she laughed with him. "That's going to leave a bruise," she moaned, rubbing her rump and wincing.

"I've got an excellent paste for that," he chuckled, rubbing it for her until she swatted his hand away. "All right, slight detour," he explained as he led her along a contorted route to get back to a staircase that led the right way again. "Here we are, now. Fourth floor: nothing here but the library," he said, only pausing briefly on the landing and proceeding directly up the next flight.

"I'll wager you can't even find it, can you? Did you ever venture inside it once?" she needled him.

"Only for clandestine romantic rendezvous," he teased her. It was a complete lie, but worth it for the stunned look on her face. He laughed out loud.

"Here's the fifth floor.... I wonder if it's still there?" he said a few moments later when they had reached the landing. George walked quickly down the corridor, so much so that Annie had to jog to keep up.

"Aha!" he exclaimed as he turned the corner. There before them was a remnant square yard of the swamp he and Fred had created just before leaving Hogwarts. It still bubbled and burped, emitting a foul stench that filled the corridor and enveloped them where they stood.

To his utter astonishment, Ron hadn't been joking – there was indeed a plaque mounted on the wall.

This swamp conjured

April 1996

And perhaps even more impressively, carved into the stone walls all along the corridor were the names, swear words, insults, cheers, and declarations of love from nearly a decade's worth of Hogwarts students, all in tribute to two of her most legendary students.

"Now who's a mythical hero?" said Annie, voice full of awe.

"I had no idea," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're going to be utterly impossible to live with now, aren't you?" she groaned, shaking her head.

"When have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly humble?" he exclaimed, pretending to be affronted.

Annie rolled her eyes and began shoving him down the hallway. "Then there's no point in standing here any longer, is there? Come on, before you get puffed up like Percy."

George laughed and put Annie in a gentle headlock, pulling her down the hallway toward the shortcut to Gryffindor Tower. To his happy surprise, the Fat Lady's portrait was already swung open into the hallway.

"Oho! A Weasley, if I'm not much mistaken," she greeted him. "And which one are you, darlin'?"

George suspected she was into her cups again. "George, ma'am," he answered with a smile.

"Well, you're all the same to me, I'm afraid. Too many of you lot to keep track of. A century of ruddy Weasleys've been comin' through this door," she complained good-naturedly. Then her mouth puckered thoughtfully. "Hang on – you look a bit long in the tooth for a student."

"I'm an alumnus giving a tour," he chuckled, indicating Annie beside him.

The Fat Lady examined his wife with a skeptical eye. "She a Hufflepuff?" she asked dubiously.

"Honorary Gryffindor," he said with a laugh.

"Go on in, I suppose," she sighed, waving her hands dismissively. "The elves are in there givin' it a good scrub-down. Some bloody idiot must've been runnin' a special on Dungbombs last term. That common room was in desperate need of an air-out!" she complained, then hiccupped.

"Cheers!" George offered as he led Annie around the large portrait and through the porthole opening.

Bright sunbeams streamed into the common room, forcing George and Annie to squint. Every window was wide open, and the tower bustled with the activity of perhaps a dozen house-elves. The room smelled strongly of Mrs. Scower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, the floors were bare of carpets, and none of the furniture had proper cushions; he presumed they were all out on the lawn being beaten to within an inch of oblivion.

"Well, it's not much to see right now, but this is where we all hung out when we weren't in class," he explained. Then he spread his arms wide. "This is where Fred and I made our first fortune," he added with a snort.

He'd just done it again, he realized. This time, the thought of his twin brother actually made him feel... happy. Actually, genuinely happy to recall their days and nights together here in the Tower.

Annie smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "You can't bring me this far and not show me where you slept," she whispered.

He looked at her aghast. "Mrs. Weasley, behave yourself, please! There are house-elves present!" But he immediately began pulling her up the stairs to the dormitories.

"Now I know why you had such a great arse when we were in school. How much further?" she huffed after climbing three flights.

"It's only five floors from the common room," he laughed. "Plus seven from the ground floor. And what do you mean had a great arse? What's wrong with it now?" he asked, feeling a bit breathless himself. This hadn't seemed so difficult ten years ago....

"Well, let's just say none of us are what we were back in school," she teased, trudging up behind him. "Bearing five children takes a toll on the body, you know."

"What's my excuse?" he cried as he finally reached the fifth floor dormitory. George bent over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, wondering if perhaps he could get away with blaming it on the altitude. He heard a rattle of a bucket handle just as Annie reached the doorway behind him. He looked up to see a smiling house-elf scrubbing the windows.

"Hello... Nixin, is it?" He thought he recognized the red and green striped pillowcase the elf was wearing.

"Yes, Mr. George!" the little creature cried, apparently quite pleased to be remembered. "Hello!" he answered cheerfully as he finished wiping the window sill with a rag. "Just be finishing up here, sir. Nixin be off in just a moment, sir."

"No hurry," he reassured the elf.

George was finally breathing normally again, and straightened up. The ceiling seemed a bit lower and the beds a tad smaller than he remembered. He walked over to the window which Nixin was struggling to open and helped the little elf with it. The breeze was quite a bit cooler up here than it had been down at ground level, and he leaned out the window sill to catch as much of it as possible.

"Which one was yours?" asked Annie from behind him.

He spun around to face her, ready to spout off some smart-arse innuendo, but quickly changed his tune when he saw the look on her face. She was leaning against one of the bedposts, staring pensively at the bed.

"That one. You're leaning on it now," he answered. "This one next to it was Lee's, then Fred's, then Ken's. We didn't have a fifth back then," he explained. "Bill told me once that he'd had Fred's bed as well, back when he was here. I think they both carved their names on it somewhere."

Annie sat on his old bed and slowly sank backward until she was lying down, looking up at the ceiling. She spread her arms out on the mattress, like a child making a snow angel. "I dreamed of this place a million times, you know – when you and Fred were here, so far away from me. I wished so hard that I could be here, too," she confessed softly. "I would have given anything to be like you, back then. Did you know that?"

George didn't know what to say. He had suspected it, of course – even wished the same thing a few times while he was here – but wasn't sure that was what she wanted to hear at this moment.

"I missed both of you so much, it was like an ache," she sighed quietly. "My heartache for ten months every year. And then, after that summer when we were sixteen.... I'd had no idea before then how much worse it could be. I loved you so."

"Every night, I lay right there, just like you are now, and dreamed of you," he was moved to confess, hoping to ease her pain by admitting to sharing it. "Those were the longest two years of my life. I never thought I could hate school more than I already did." He was standing at the foot of the bed, his arms stretched out, hands grasping opposite bedposts. "Do you remember that letter I sent you? The night of the Yule Ball?"

Annie nodded. "You seemed depressed," she answered, her brilliant violet eyes turned to gaze at him.

Was he surprised that she instantly recalled that letter, one of nearly fifty he had sent her over the span of seven years? A faint echo – an aftershock of the realization that had rocked him ages ago on that very bed: that he was in love with his best friend – rattled through his gut once more.

"I was depressed," he agreed. "Utterly lovesick. It hit me that night, alone here in this room: I realized I was in love with you. I had been dreaming of you every night that term. Even daydreaming of you in class, completely clueless what was happening to me until that night." He chuckled wryly, shaking his head with the memory.

She chuckled herself. "It sounds so romantic now, doesn't it? I only remember feeling wretched and pathetic." Then she sighed. "And now this horrid place is trying to steal my precious ginger boys once again." She rolled onto her side and curled herself into a fetal position.

George gently scooped her up off the bed and held her tightly in his arms. "It's for the best, love," he said softly. "It's the right thing for them. They'll be safer here with all the professors to help them learn how to manage it. I hope you can understand."

Annie nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I do, at least in my rational mind. Only that argument isn't working for my sappy, overprotective mother's heart."

George led her down the dormitory's spiral staircase to the common room. They walked silently hand in hand back the way they had come to wait outside the classroom door where their sons' futures were being determined.

The echoing sound of gigantic boots clomping down the hallway startled them out of their respective quiet thoughts.

"Why, hello, George! Hello, Annie! What brings you two here to Hogwarts?" cried Hagrid in surprise once he recognized them. He shook George's hand and thumped him on the back, nearly knocking him to the ground as Annie giggled by his side.

"Fred and Art are being interviewed by Professor McGonagall. We're trying to get them into Hogwarts early," George explained.

"Blimey! Are you really?" exclaimed Hagrid. "Tha's funny. I just go' a message from her sayin' to come up here an' see her 'bout summat."

Just then, the door to the classroom opened. Fred and Art ran out the door into their parents' arms, eager to share all their news.

"We got to play with wands!" cried Art.

"And do all sorts of spells!" added Fred.

"Can I borrow yours someday, Dad? Please?" asked Art with a face full of hope.

"I sincerely doubt it, Art," answered George with a chuckle. "You'll get your own soon enough," he said, looking to Professor McGonagall for a hint as to just how soon that might be.

But McGonagall's expression offered no clue. She was turned toward Hagrid, her face tilting up to him. "Ah, Professor Hagrid, there you are. These boys are Arthur and Fred Weasley. They are very interested to meet Witherwings the hippogriff. Do you think that might be possible while I speak with their parents for a bit?"

"Certainly, Perfesser," agreed Hagrid, smiling at the boys. "Come along now, you two."

Both Art's and Fred's eyes grew very wide, contemplating the idea of going anywhere with the enormous hairy man.

"Professor Hagrid is a very good friend of mine and your mum's," George assured them both with a smile and a tousle of their curly hair. "Please be on your best behavior, so he won't have to thump you," he said as he gently pushed them toward the half-giant. "You can't afford to get any smaller."

Hagrid got down on one knee as the comparatively tiny twins crept cautiously toward him. "I can tell you loads of stories 'bout your dad, and uncles and aunties to boot, when they were wee ones as well. Want to hear some?"

Both boys nodded eagerly.

"Well, come along with me, then," he chuckled. "Let me tell you about the first time your dad ever came across a Blast-Ended Skrewt..." he said as he led them down the hallway like the Pied Piper, their little legs jogging to keep up with his stride.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, we have quite a bit to discuss," McGonagall said as she motioned for them to enter the classroom. After everyone had found seats, she began again. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Weasley, for doubting you. I am utterly astounded. They are truly gifted, both of them. And for a six-year-old to have any control whatsoever – to be able to govern the magic with intent – is absolutely shocking. With or without a wand, apparently..." she mumbled, her thoughts drifting a bit in contemplation.

"They must begin formal instruction immediately, of course. I will make the necessary arrangements with the Ministry. Your sons will be accepted to Hogwarts for the upcoming fall term."

"Thank you, Professor!" said George excitedly.

"Wait!" Annie cried. "Professor McGonagall... I have a few questions, if you don't mind, before we rush into this," she added, trying to be as respectful as she could but feeling panic rise in her throat.

"Certainly, Mrs. Weasley," McGonagall answered patiently.

"First... I'm worried about my sons, Professor. They're only six years old, after all, and only half the age of the other first year Hogwarts students. Frankly, I have strong reservations about sending them off to a boarding school so young. Has this situation ever happened before?"

"Honestly, no. I did some research last night in preparation for today. You see, I was fully planning to deny your husband's request out of hand. No previous Headmaster within memory has ever admitted a student as young as your sons. But after seeing with my own eyes... well, you must know yourself."

Annie nodded. "I do. And I understand the necessity of beginning their schooling early; truly, I do. It's just that... Hogwarts is so very far from Devon, from their home. What sort of accommodations are you prepared to offer for our boys?"

"That is an excellent question, Mrs. Weasley. For you see, that is a problem indeed. I have no place at all to put them. Each house has room in the dormitory for boys and girls aged eleven through seventeen; no more, no less. The only open beds in Hogwarts are the ones slotted to be filled by the incoming eleven-year-old class of first-years. Apart from housing your sons in the hospital ward, I am out of options.

"And that doesn't even address the more important issue to my mind and to yours, I suspect. I fully agree with you, Mrs. Weasley, that no six-year-old belongs in a boarding school under any circumstance.

"Therefore, this is what I propose. Mr. Weasley, do you not have premises for... business..." she uttered the word in rueful distaste, "here in the village of Hogsmeade?"

George and Annie both smiled at her allusion to the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes shop in town. George Weasley had managed to be a thorn in Professor McGonagall's side far beyond his school years, considering the volume of business brought each year to his doorstep by visiting Hogwarts students.

"I do indeed, Professor," he said with an impudent laugh.

"And these premises are connected to the Floo Network, I presume?"

George nodded. He and Annie began to see where Professor McGonagall was going with this.

"So, you would be able to personally deliver your sons each day to school for their lessons and home again each night?"

"Of course!" Annie answered for him. "That would be perfect!"

"Then may I consider the matter quite settled? Your sons will begin the fall term at Hogwarts on September second, rather than the first. They will not ride the Express, nor will they be Sorted into a house for the time being. They will begin their studies in classrooms with the other first years, with the possible exception of Charms – that would be pointless now, wouldn't it? I suspect Filius will want to meet them once he returns from his holiday in the Congo and make his own determination of their placement in his classes. You will receive the standard letter next month listing all the items they will need.

"Do you have any further questions, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Not at present. Thank you, Professor," Annie said earnestly, shaking the woman's hand.

"Of course, my dear. I am honored to have your trust in this very important matter. And thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, for bringing your astonishing sons to Hogwarts today."