Author's Note: Hi everyone, sorry if I'm taking to long to update, I'll try and go faster! Please keep reviewing, because it's so helpful when you do. Please don't hate me for this chapter.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was closed for lunch.

George was tidying stacks of Extendable Ear boxes behind the counter with smooth waves of his wand, when a serious, middle-aged wizard walked into the shop, ignoring the 'closed' sign. He wore dark, clean-cut robes and he looked like he hadn't pulled a prank in his life, let alone stepped foot into a joke shop.

Normally, George would send him away until they opened, but he had a feeling this man wasn't here to purchase Canary Creams.

The man addressed George at the counter.

"Mr. Weasley please," he asked curtly.

"That's me," George said, folding his arms across his chest. The man studied him.

"No I don't think so, Ronald Weasley?"

"Yeah?" Ron said, appearing from the back room. Recognition crossed the man's face.

"Can we speak in private?" the man gestured to the door behind the counter.

"Whatever you have to tell me, you can say in front of George,"

The man frowned at him for a moment. Something told George that the fact he was a Weasley was the only reason the man continued.

"I'm Auror Miller, and I'm here to inform you that there has been an incident," George went completely cold. He was from the Auror department.

No, it couldn't be.

"Incident?" Ron asked, confused.

"What happened?" George croaked urgently. Miller acted as if Ron had asked the question, and continued to address him.

"Your friend Auror Potter was personally targeted, he is currently in St Mungo's and it is unknown if he will recover-,"

But George didn't wait to hear the rest. He sprinted from the shop, shortly followed by Ron.

"George, wait!" Ron managed to grab his brother's arm before George drew his wand, and apparated to the hospital.

Shaking off his brother's hand, he ran into the lobby, and strode purposefully towards the reception, breathing heavily like a furious Horntail. He had to see him.

"Where is he!" he yelled. The skinny receptionist jumped as he slammed his palms onto the counter. He saw her gaze flicker to his red hair; the Weasleys were now famous for being associated with Harry.

"Mr. Potter?" she squeaked.

"Yes, where is he!" he shouted louder, losing patience. Why was she taking so long? She didn't understand, he needed to see Harry!

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you-," the other male receptionist was interrupted when George leaned over the desk and grabbed him by his shirt. His beater muscles overpowering the man as he pulled him up to his face.

"WHERE IS HE!" he bellowed.

"George …"

He ignored his little brother.

"Ward 13!" the girl told him frantically. He flung the man aside, and walked brusquely towards the staircase, everyone giving him a wide berth and moving out of his way.

And then he began to run.

He sprinted up the staircase as he scanned the signs. The echoes of his pounding footsteps warned oncoming mediwitches and wizards to move aside as he flew past.

Finding the right floor, he smashed through the door, leaving it to bang against the wall as it swung open. He could hear Ron hot on his heels, but he wasn't slowing down for anyone.

All he could do was pray that Harry was okay.

His heart was racing and his stomach threatened to bring up his breakfast as it churned sickeningly.

He had to be alright, he had to.

Ward Number 13.

Spotting the number, he pushed the door open and froze.

The sight he saw caused him to let out a dry sob. He gripped helplessly onto Ron who he felt shaking next to him.

Harry lay motionless in the hospital bed, deathly pale and weak.

He looked like Fred had looked.

He looked dead.

He was barely breathing; George could only just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His World came tumbling down all over again, as he saw the man he loved slowly dying.

He stumbled towards the bed, and fell to his knees, clutching Harry's hand as he did. The boy's eyelids were an ill purple, his lips white and only a tiny hint of warmth radiating from Harry's palm gave any real sign of life.

"Ron, why is it always him?" he whispered.

"I don't know George, I don't know," Ron was crying.

"Mr. Weasley?" George finally looked away from Harry to see a rather frightened looking, small mediwitch in the doorway. She was staring at George strangely, eyeing their intertwined hands.

"What happened?" Ron choked. She looked away from George.

"I'm not at liberty to say, I know the basics which I can tell you, but I believe someone is on their way to explain in detail," she said.

"Is he going to be okay?" George asked hoarsely. He wasn't looking anymore, but was stroking Harry's hair. His eyes were so misty he could barely see his face. He hastily wiped the threatening tears away, and stared determinedly at Harry.

"It is unknown at this point. It appears that he was tortured first, and then subjected to a dark curse which I'm afraid we have no knowledge of. We have no idea what it could be that's made him like this," the more she spoke, the more George wanted to be sick. He buried his face in Harry's chest. The nurse stopped.

"Go on," George growled. He heard her gulp. Her tone grew much more solemn.

"I am going to be honest with you … it doesn't look good. We doubt that he will emerge from his comatose state. I'm very sorry,"

Ron made an odd strangled sound.

George's shoulders began to shake violently.

All he could think about was The Battle of Hogwarts; seeing Fred's body and then what he thought was Harry dead. He'd screamed Harry's name, willing it not to be true, because he couldn't lose him as well.

He was reliving it now.

He couldn't lose him.

He felt Ron's comforting hand on his shoulder. He stood up and engulfed his brother, weeping into his shoulder.

"I can't lose him too, Ron, I can't,"

His younger brother pulled him closer.

"Neither can I, George, neither can I."

George and Ron refused to leave Harry. George remained kneeling on the floor holding his hand. Ron tried to persuade him to sit in the chair, but he wanted to be as close to Harry as possible. Ron didn't argue.

All the Weasleys including Fleur and Hermione turned up soon after. Hermione, Ginny and Molly had been inconsolable. The situation looked so completely hopeless, they had just lost all control.

Arthur, Percy stood stock still and silent; Fleur and Charlie were almost angry. Bill was one of the worst; he just stood there with a few tears sliding down his face.

They'd already suffered through so much grief, and now they were going to lose another one of their own.

But George had no eyes for his family. He would only look away from Harry once, surprisingly, the Minister for Magic entered the room.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had one of the most impressive presences George had ever known, but today, no one, no matter how calming, could reduce his fear.

"How are you all?"

No one answered him.

"What happened?" Arthur asked quietly. Kingsley sighed.

"A group of Aurors went to investigate a claim about possible dark activity in Cardiff. When they arrived, they all split off, and Harry alone was attacked," George winced, "No one found him for a little while, which allowed the curse to settle in, but once they did the person or persons was long gone," he explained grimly. "We believe it was a vengeful Death Eater who was one of the few that escaped the Final Battle, and wanted to finish off the Boy-Who-Lived because he fancied Voldemort's position."

"Have you found them?" Charlie seethed.

"No, not yet," he paused. He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. This time, looking directly at George.

He looked so tired.

"And I am so sorry to tell you all this, but unless we find them, it doesn't seem as though there's much chance of Harry recovering,"

Molly whimpered. Feeling his eyes begin to water again, George continued to look right at Kingsley. He looked close to tears himself.

Was there no hope?

George felt a strange surge of something. Was it belief, or faith? Whatever it was, he was damned well going to follow through with it.

"He's going to make it," George said with certainty. Arthur looked at his son sympathetically.

"George, they don't even know what curse-,"

"No," he cut off his father, "Harry's different. He's not an ordinary wizard. He's going to wake up," he turned back to the bed.

"I know it."