A/N - Sorry it's been so long since I updated; I'm having troubles getting from Grimmauld Place to the Nott Manor. Not to mention the idea of writing a battle scene is TOTALLY daunting for me. I'm hoping to have another chapter up by Wednesday. There is no song for this chapter. I do have good news, though: my fic is officially search-able! Remember how you couldn't search for it by name? Well, after complaining a few times, FFN was able to fix it. Woot!

It was four hours later that Hermione finally allowed herself to take a break. Her neck ached from leaning over her stacks of books, and she had sandpaper eyes. When the incantations started to blur, she realized she needed to stand up and walk around a bit. 'Wouldn't want to memorize a spell incorrectly,' she thought, giggling to herself, imagining Death Eaters turned into bunnies or something even more ridiculous. "That's not funny," she said aloud, "this is serious, I need to be serious, and focused." She giggled again, feeling slightly drunk from lack of sleep and the delirium brought on by weeks of stress.

"Talking to yourself, eh Hermione? You know what people say about that." She turned around, blushing at the thought of someone listening in on her crazy ramblings. There in the doorway was a very familiar face. "George! Umm... what do people say, exactly?"

"Only good things, Hermione, only good things." He gave her a half smile as he walked towards her, wrapping her in a quick hug before pulling away again. "You had us worried there 'Mione. I know you're Super Witch and all, but next time, please don't get yourself kidnapped by a lunatic, yeah?"

She smiled at him, thankful for his teasing. George hadn't spoken this much to her since Fred's death, and it was a gift to hear the lilting tone in his voice once more. It was then that she realized how much she had missed it.

"I think that's brilliant advice all around. How've you been, George? I'm sorry I wasn't here for, you know… well… I mean, it's been a year…." She couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. She had simply wanted to let him know that she was thinking about him, and that she was empathetic to his pain, as it was hers as well. Ugh, what a terrible way to say such a thing! She could hit herself.

George understood her verbal stumbling, however, and gave her a sad smile. "Been better, I must say. The second of May will never be a good date in my book. And with you being who knew where, suffering who knew what, most likely because of You-Know-Who… well."

She grimaced, knowing her disappearance had added to the pain of that day. "Such a wordsmith, Mr. Weasley," she lightly teased, trying to alleviate the tension in the air. "Let's just say you're better off not knowing the whole story on me; it's not a very pleasant one. What I meant to say is that I know the anniversary of Fred's death must have been hell for you, and I'm so very sorry I wasn't able to be there to support you, and the rest of the family." There, that was more along the lines of what she had initially meant to say. The lack of sleep was making her less than articulate; her brain felt fuzzy and for good reason.

"I miss him. And Remus. And Tonks. I miss all of them." She was sure that George knew all of this, but she felt like it was important to tell him. She moved closer to the tall red-head, gently resting her hand upon his arm, afraid of scaring him away. She needn't have worried, though, as his arm wrapped around her waist, and he drew her into an affectionate sideways sort of hug. Her chocolate brown curls cascaded down his arm as she laid her head upon his shoulder, thankful for the human contact.

"Well, you are certainly in good company there, pet. There are still days I wake up and forget that he's gone; those are the worst, by far. The realization hits you, and you're in it all over again. It's enough to drive a bloke barking." She nodded her head slowly, silently urging him to continue.

"I've been angry for a year. Sad for a year. Maybe those aren't the right words; I was rubbish. All I know is that I woke up one morning about a week ago and thought, 'If Fred could see me now, see how the last year had been, he'd call me a right prat and hex me into next month.'" George laughed, squeezing Hermione's hip.

"He always was too clever for his own good when it came to pranks. You two were always up to your necks in some sort of trouble. And you may be identical, but Fred was definitely the more devious twin, I think." Her whiskey-colored eyes lit up, remembering days gone by.

He laughed, nodding in agreement. "I remember how scared he got in seventh year when you threatened to tell our mum about the Skiving Snackboxes. For days afterward, it was always 'George, you don't think she'd actually do it, do ya?' I think you're the only female would could intimidate him like that, except for Mum or Ginny, of course, but they're family."

"Hey! I'm family too, aren't I?" She was a bit hurt at his words; she had always seen the Weasleys as extended family, especially in the last few years. Did they not feel the same way?

"Yeah, well, for the most of us, that's true. I've always thought of you as a charming yet unbelievably bossy little sister. But as far as Ron and Fred are concerned, no, you've never been family," he snickered.

She pulled away from him, turning to look him straight in the eyes. "What are you saying, George Weasley?"

The older boy was laughing uncontrollably then, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight. "'Mione, you MUST have known Freddie had a thing for you. No? Seriously?" She shook her head, blushing.

"Oh yeah. This was before we know of ickle Ronniekin's feelings, of course, but I think he always carried a bit of a flame for you, pet. It started in Sixth Year, so your Fourth Year. He saw you all dolled up at the Yule Ball and couldn't stop staring, but I think he had a bit of a thing for you even before that. He was always asking about your reaction to pranks, that sort of thing. And then in Seventh year when you help create Dumbledore's Army, he was obviously smitten, commenting on your brilliance and bravery. 'Bet she could hex the balls off a Death Eater at twenty yards,' he'd boast. We sort of supposed you had feelings for Ron, so he never acted on anything, but suffice it to say, you were never a sister to him."

She shook her head, denying George's claims. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you? I don't think I believe you."

"Believe it, 'Mione. I shared a room with the bloke, and I can't count the number of times he moaned your name in his sleep. At least I think it was his sleep... Oh gods, I damn well hope he was sleeping!"

They laughed together, Hermione's face burning. "Well, I can honestly say that I have learned something new from you today, which is more than I can say about those ruddy books." He glanced over her shoulder, taking inventory of the table stacked with tomes.

"Nothing, eh?"

"Nothing new, at least. You-Know-Who thinks I managed to stumble upon some sort of secret knowledge, according to Nott. But if I know something, I don't KNOW that I know it, you know?"

"Why Miss Granger, it is obviously YOU who is the wordsmith. Do you have any sort of idea at all? Any leads, at least?"

She shook her head in frustration, her curls madly bouncing about her face. "I don't have anything! I mean, I've read a lot on Dark Magic recently, learned some really terrible curses I hope to never use. Did you know that you can literally turn someone inside out? It's horrific; their organs all splashing around, blood everywhere..." She shivered, closing her eyes. "Hey! Shouldn't you be outside perfecting your Woollongong Shimmy or something with Oliver and the rest of the fliers?"

"Please, I perfected that back in Fourth Year." He waved her off, puffing his chest in pride. "Since the air assault team is pretty much the Gryffindor Quidditch team, plus Lee, who commentated for years... well, it didn't take too long too fall into old plays and patterns. We've got all of our strategies in place, don't worry about it. You'll be as safe as houses. Well, safe as well-warded, booby-trapped houses." He scratched his head, unsure of what he had been trying to prove.

"What we were talking about before you started spouting rather impressive Quidditch terms?"

"My complete lack of any helpful leads for killing off You-Know-Who."

"Ahhh, yes. Well, tell me what you've been reading about these last few months; maybe that's a good place to start."

She pursed her lips, trying to remember what she had studied most recently. "I read about the founders of Hogwarts, more about Horcruxes (just in case we missed anything, we can't be too sure), some bits about wandlore, blood rituals, the earliest documented magic, some about magical creatures, but I don't think that last bit fits at all. I don't know! It's like I have all of this stuff in my head, I know I do, but I just can't sort it out right now. I'm so exhausted, and frazzled, and I, I just feel like I sneed a week to sleep and get my thoughts in order, but we've got HOURS, George, that's it! I have no bloody idea what the hell to do! And somehow I'm just supposed to just pull the key to the Dark Lord's destruction out of my ARSE and save the whole FUCKING WORLD!" Her hand shot up to clamp her mouth, her eyes wide.

George looked gobsmacked, then crowed with laughter. "Merlin, Hermione! I think that's the first time I've really heard you curse! I hope you don't mind me saying, but I sort of liked it." He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she punched him in the shoulder, hard.

"Violence doesn't become you, Granger," he warned, wagging his finger at her. She playfully jabbed at him again, but George was too fast.

"Speaking of violence... am I right in assuming that there's a reason you haven't gone to Nott for more information on this? Harry didn't mention what happened to him, but I'm guessing he's... unavailable for comment at the moment. Would I be correct in assuming that?"

She sucked in a ragged breath; she had almost forgotten the nightmare from the day before, but it was rushing back now.

"You would be correct," she said cautiously. Should she tell him? Harry hadn't been too clear on Nott's condition at the meeting, erring on the side of discretion, but eventually the truth had to come out. Nott was dead, lying in a sealed room off the kitchen. How long does it take before a body starts to smell? Or had Harry already moved the Death Eater sometime during her and Ron's interlude in his bedroom?

She searched George's eyes, deciding he could handle the truth. "I killed him. Well, I tortured him to within inches of death, and then You-Know-Who finished him off somehow; I'm not sure exactly how it worked, but his body just... stopped. And he died. And I helped cause it. I didn't know he was under the Imperius Curse. I treated him like rubbish; I wanted to cause him pain, and I wanted to destroy him. And it worked." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her body language betrayed the vulnerability and uncertainty she felt.

Once again George Weasley enveloped the small Gryffindor in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he stroked her hair. "Oh Hermione. Terrible things happen in war, pet. Terrible things happened to you, and Nott, and terrible things will happen tonight. None of it is fair, and none of it is excusable. Fred should be here; we should have grown old together, our kids should have been best friends. I shouldn't have turned twenty-one without my twin. Teddy Lupin shouldn't be an orphan. Harry shouldn't have the world on his shoulders, and neither should you. But that's just how it is, pet. There's no getting around it. It took me a year to come to grips with it, but as our charming American friends say... well, shit happens."

He felt her shoulders shake; from sobs or laughter? He continued to stroke her hair, unsure of her current emotional state. He heard her mumble something and lowered his head to hers.

"What's that, Hermione?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wet but playful. "'Shit happens.' Ever the wordsmith."

He tickled her sides, thankful to see her dark mood had passed quickly. "Come on, Granger. I think we need to find some brain food and a Hagrid-sized cup of coffee for you, my dear. And maybe then you can tell me why my little brother kept shooting you 'shag-me eyes' during breakfast, yeah?"

"Yes to the food and coffee, no to the 'shag-me eyes'," she retorted.

"Why Miss Granger, you wound me. No one has every said no to my 'shag-me eyes' before," he teased her mercilessly as they walked to the kitchen.

"First time for everything, Georgie."

She glanced up at a clock in the kitchen as George rifled through the refrigerator for food. It was half two. Two and a half hours before the Order regrouped, and she was no closer to figuring out the key to Voldemort's death. She sighed, and poured herself a very large cup of coffee, feeling utterly useless.

"George?"

"Yeah, 'Mione?"

"I just wanted to thank you for talking to me; for some reason, it seems easier to discuss my frustrations with you rather than Harry or Ron. I feel less pressure to be perfect, or in control, or whatever. I've really missed you, you know. It's good to see you acting more like yourself again." She sipped her coffee slowly, relishing the sugary, caffeinated goodness.

"It's good to be acting more like myself. I know Fred would want me laugh, and enjoy my family and friends. It's still really difficult, but I'm going to try harder. I've got to live this life for both of us now. And anyways, who else is going to sell those ickle First-Years Skiving Snackboxes?" He ducked as she tried to hit him again.

"Come on, 'Mione. Let's grab a bite and pretend the whole world isn't going to change in a few hours. Get your mind off it all for a couple more minutes, yeah?"

She smiled and nodded in agreement. That was exactly what she needed right now; a nice little holiday for her brain.

Leaning back in his chair, George flashed her a winning smile. "Have I ever told you the one about the vicar, the football hooligan and the prostitute?"

There is no real vicar, hooligan and prostitute joke; at least not one I know of. But man, I wish there was...