Author's Note: I don't own anything :(

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Chapter Eleven

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of humming and of soft, metallic clanks. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, blinking until the room came into focus, and when I lifted my head from my pillow and gazed around for the source of the sound, I saw George in the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, frying pan in hand, humming a little tune to himself.

"Morning, Granger," he said brightly when he noticed that I was awake and looking at him. "How would you like your eggs?"

I pushed myself up onto my elbows. "Scrambled is fine," I said, trying not to sound so surprised at waking to find him already up and preparing our breakfast.

"And butter on your toast?"

"Yes, please," I said, and George gave an understanding nod and then turned his attention back to the task before him. I sat up, frowning as I watched him, still humming and flicking his wand with a bit of.. well.. perkiness.

"George," I said, a curious tone evident in my voice.

"Hmm?"

I paused only briefly, considering my question before I asked it. "Did you have any dreams last night?"

"Dreams?" George suddenly stilled and he turned to look at me. "Erm.. yeah, actually," he admitted, but he looked a little worried when he added, "why d'you ask?"

I no longer had any desire to tease him about talking in his sleep. I wasn't even sure I should bring it up, considering the slightly-anxious look he now wore on his face. I wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about it if he needed to, but he didn't seem to be jumping at the chance. So I just shook my head, giving him a smile. "I was just curious," I told him. "You just seem to be in quite a good mood this morning."

His face relaxed and he returned my small smile. "Yeah, I guess I am. Quite good dreams, I suppose. Now," he said, his voice suddenly sounding all business, "why don't you go have a nice shower while I finish all this up? Then, soon as we've eaten, we can pack up and go find that stone."

I nodded my agreement.

I had a hot shower, slipped into some fresh clothes, and by the time I had rejoined George in the main living-area, he had the table laid out with a fabulous breakfast. We talked as we ate, going over our plan to double-back on our path from yesterday and to take a more western turn this time, heading deeper into the heart of the woods, and as soon as we had finished eating and everything was washed and packed up and the wards taken down, we were on our way.

It was a day's hike to backtrack the trail we'd followed the day before and, with my legs now aching from the previous day's exertion, it felt even longer.

Still, our plan to turn westward proved to be a good one and, just as the forest began to fall into twilight, George and I found ourselves staring ahead in awe at the abandoned acromantula nest.

The trees here grew thicker and darker than any I'd seen in any other part of the forest, and there were spider webs the size of massive tapestries hanging from the boughs, the threads as thick as rope and glinting silver wherever a torn strand got caught in a rare, stray breeze.

There were ginormous egg sacs as well–pale, fuzzy orbs nestled in the roots of the trees–but these appeared to have been slashed open and now sat abandoned, like strange, empty eggshells on the forest floor.

I let out a shaky breath, actually feeling thankful that the death eaters had been through here and driven all the acromantulas out in order to use the space as their meeting place.

Once again, George and I found a secure spot to set up camp, pitching our tent and surrounding it with protective wards before turning our attentions once more to the search.

We spent the evening with our backs hunched over, faces turned to the ground, lit wands providing us light as we hunted the stone, checking between tree roots, kicking up piles of leaves, kneeling on sore knees and sifting with our fingers through the dirt until every inch of our bodies ached with the effort.

George was groping around a small hole near the base of a tree when he suddenly jumped to his feet, hissing in pain and swearing.

"Son of a–" he swore through gritted teeth, holding his left hand with his right and rubbing it to ease the pain there. I hurried over, reaching George just in time to see a small creature fly up out of the hole. At first glance it could've been a fairy, but then I noted the extra set of limbs, the coarse, black hair over its body, and the insect-like wings protruding from its back. Letting go of his injured hand, George raised his wand. "Immobulus!" he said, an edge of anger to his voice as he immobilized the doxy.

"Let me see," I said, reaching out for George's hand. He offered it willingly and, in the light of my wand, I could clearly make out the small bite-mark, the razor-sharp teeth having punctured the skin so that tiny drops of blood were rising to the surface. I turned his hand over to see it from a better angle and George sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth.

"I forgot how badly their venom stings," he said with a pained laugh and I winced at his discomfort, taking care to handle his injured hand more gingerly.

"Do we have any antidote?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at his hand and tried to flex it. "In my bag. But it's not that bad, really." He looked up and gave me a small smile. "Let's just keep looking."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "George. Doxy bites are poisonous."

"It'll be fine," he said, and he tried to wave his hand casually through the air but ended up hissing in pain again.

I frowned at him, shaking my head. Boys. "I'm going to get the antidote."

"Don't worry about it, Granger. I'm alright, really."

But I was already walking away from him. "Stay and keep looking if you like," I called back to him. "But I'm going to get it."

"Alright, alright," I heard him mumble, trying to sound disgruntled over losing the argument, even though he was now wearing a tiny, relieved smile.

Back inside the tent, I found George's bag resting against the foot of the sofa in the living-area. I unzipped it and stuck my hand inside, surprised to find that, just like my own handbag, George's bag had been charmed with an undetectable extension charm, and my arm slid in past my elbow before my fingertips finally grazed the bottom.

I groped around inside, feeling for the small bottle of antidote and, when I couldn't find it, I pulled back, frowning. I would have to use my wand and accio it. My hand brushed against something on the way up, however, the mysterious item gently scratching against the back of my fingers, making a rustling sound as it grazed my flesh. Curious, I turned my hand so that I could feel it with my palm and fingers, and I found myself clutching what felt like a folded bit of parchment.

I knew it couldn't have been the Marauder's Map; Harry still had that. And, considering that this was George Weasley we were dealing with, I strongly doubted it to be any bit of educational reading.

So I gripped it gently in my fingers and, with a quick glance at the tent's entrance, I pulled it from George's bag. What was the harm in having one little look?

Now gazing down at the item in my hand, I found that it was indeed a bit of folded up parchment. I knew it was wrong. I knew this was an invasion of George's privacy, a breach of his trust, a violation against our friendship...

But I was just so curious.

I pulled open the top fold of the parchment, startled when something else fell out, slowly and gracefully fluttering down to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over, smiling softly to myself as I was greeted by a moving image of Fred and George. This photo was different from the one I'd found on Fred's nightstand the evening I went searching for George. There, they had been younger, still wearing their school robes as they stood in front of their newly-purchased joke shop.

Here, they were older, standing in the small field just beyond The Burrow, just outside the big white tent where we'd all celebrated Bill and Fleur's wedding. In the photo, both boys were dressed in matching suits with coordinating ties and vests of green and purple, but George's ear was bandaged and Fred appeared to be fussing over him. George just smiled and waved him off, clearly telling his twin not to worry, but this only intensified the frown on Fred's face as he fiddled with the wrappings covering George's wound. George pointed at the camera then, reminding Fred that they're supposed to be posing for a photo, and while Fred was momentarily distracted, looking in the direction of the camera, George seized the opportunity to launch himself onto his twin's back, wrapping his arms around Fred's neck. The action was sudden and rough and clearly meant to cheer Fred up and to snap him out of the worried mood he was so obviously in. And it must have worked. Caught off guard, Fred's eyes went wide in shock and he stumbled forward, staggering under George's weight. But he quickly steadied himself, reaching up and gripping George's arms to help him keep his balance, and then he was laughing, his eyes creasing at the corners. George, still clinging onto his brother from behind, rested his chin on Fred's shoulder, flashing an exaggeratedly goofy grin as the camera's flash went off, freezing Fred and George in that happy moment...

The smile on my face faded. It was hard to believe that that had only been a year ago. So much had happened since then.

My eyes drifted up from the photo, now noticing and focusing on the word George written in a shaky hand at the top of the piece of parchment behind it. I pulled the page forward, positioning it in front of the photograph, and started to read.

George,

Feels really odd, this. Writing you a letter, I mean. I don't think we've ever done that before, have we? I can always just tell you whatever I'm thinking. Or you can just feel it without me having to voice it.

But you've just had your ear blown off and are currently sleeping on the couch and, sorely tempted though I am, I don't want to wake you.

I'm not quite sure what I would say to you anyway. That's a first too, isn't it? But everything's just so jumbled up inside my head at the moment. But that's where this letter comes in. I'm hoping it'll help me make sense of what I'm feeling.

Sounds awfully stupid when I say it like that, doesn't it?

Oi. Stop it.

Seriously, George, I can feel you smirking. Prat.

You cracked some truly awful jokes tonight, I hope you're aware of that. I laughed and played right along, of course. Because that's what we do, innit mate? We crack jokes and pull pranks and lighten the mood for everyone else.

But everyone else is asleep now, even mum went off to bed half-an hour ago. How any of them can sleep while you're lying here with a hole in your head is beyond me. But it's just you and me down here now, which means I'm not having to smile and laugh it all off like what happened tonight didn't scare the bloody hell out of me.

Because it did. Do you see my handwriting? Seriously. Are you seeing this? If it looks like a four year old wrote it, it's because I can't seem to make my hands stop trembling.

You know I've been scared before. When we almost lost dad to the snake. Bill to Greyback. I was scared. I was worried for them. It hurt to think of losing them.

But I've never, not even in my worst nightmares, imagined that I could lose you. That's not the way this thing is supposed to work, Georgie. We came in together, we're going out together.

I can't even comprehend it happening any other way, you know?

So to get back to the house tonight and to find you lying here unconscious and missing an ear and so white from all the blood you lost...

Bloody hell, George.

And it was just a cutting curse. What if it'd been a killing curse! I never would've forgiven myself.

I should've fought harder to stay with you. I should've told dad and Lupin and Mad-Eye to shove their disapproval up their arses and ridden with you whether they bleeding liked it or not.

I'm sorry I wasn't there, Georgie.

Heh. You just giggled in your sleep. Always makes me laugh when you do that.

Would it be weird for me to climb onto the couch with you and just hug you? You know, the way we used to sleep sometimes when we were really little?

It'd be weird, wouldn't it.

Damn.

Because you have no idea how bloody tempted I am to do just that, to crawl up there and hug you and never let you leave my sight ever again. But, yeah, I suppose that might be awkward for everyone involved so I reckon I won't. I'll just stay sitting here on the floor by your head instead. Staring at you all night as you sleep. Because, y'know, that's not weird at all...

..You're laughing at me right now, aren't you?

Insensitive git.

That's alright. Hearing you laugh will make me feel better.

Listen to me. You're the one missing an ear, you're the one who nearly bled to death, and I need you to make me feel better. But that's what you were doing earlier anyway, wasn't it? I saw the little glances you snuck at me every time you made a joke about your ear. You were trying to make me feel better. To cheer me up. To protect me from being swallowed up with fear, knowing I could've lost you tonight. Because you know me. You knew that's what I needed.

And I love you for it.

I'm sorry I don't say that enough.

I know we're not typically ones for sentimental words, but tonight's made me realize that I need to say it more. I love you, Georgie. You're my best friend, my partner in crime, the Forge to my Gred. You are, quite frankly, the single most important person in the world to me and I–

"Hermione?"

The sound of my name snapped me back to the present and my gaze darted up from the page to the opening of the tent where George stood frozen, one hand still holding open the canvas flap, his back still hunched over as he ducked to enter, staring at me.

"George," I breathed in a surprised (and suddenly ashamed) whisper. "I–" I began, struggling for words as I glanced down at the letter in my hands. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, and I could feel my eyes begin to burn, close to tears at the realization that I'd been caught doing something I knew was wrong. "I was just looking for the antidote," I insisted. "But I found this. And, oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." I hurriedly returned the photo to its proper place, folded the letter back up, and held it out to him. "I had absolutely no right. George, please don't be mad at me."

Suddenly coming to himself, George straightened up and swiftly crossed the room and, as soon as he reached me, he gently took the letter from my hand. "It's alright," he said, though his face was pinker than I'd ever seen it. "I'm not mad. It's just a bit embarrassing," he mumbled, gazing down at the folded bit of parchment which he held very tenderly, like he didn't want to wrinkle or disturb it in any way. "Did you read all of it?" He dared to look back up at me then, gauging my response.

Still horrified by what I'd done (and, even worse, that I'd been caught doing it) I quickly shook my head. "No. I got to the part where Fred said he realized he needed to tell you more often that he loved you."

George's gaze dropped back down to the letter. "Ah," he said, the flush on his cheeks deepening and spreading up to his ear. "Well, it gets worse. There are tear splotches and everything. Fred's from when he wrote it, mine from when I read it. It's not pretty," he said, forcing a sad smile onto his face as he tried to joke. "Especially when you take into account how many times I've reread it and cried over it since Fred..." His voice became thick and choked with emotion and he trailed off, but I didn't need him to finish. I knew that last word would've been died, and I didn't need to make him say it. He cleared his throat and looked back up at me, forcing a watery smile back into place. "Well, the last paragraph is practically illegible at this point."

"I'm sorry," I said again, letting my gaze drop to the floor and shaking my head sadly. "I shouldn't have looked. It's clearly personal and not my business at all."

"Hermione..." George's voice was gentle and he waited until I was looking up at him again before he continued. "It's alright. I'm a Weasley Twin, remember? If anyone understands being drawn to things that are against the rules, it's me," he said, gracing me with a small wink. "Again, I'm just a bit embarrassed, is all." He paused, turning to tuck the letter and photo safely back into his bag. "More for Fred than for myself, really. No one else would ever believe how soppy the git could be sometimes. Although I suppose my carrying this thing around with me a year later isn't any less embarrassing than his writing it in the first place, eh?" When he turned back to me, he was holding the doxy antidote and wearing a shy smile.

I gave a small shrug. True, I was learning that Fred and George were much more sensitive and emotional than I'd ever imagined them capable of being–at least when it came to each other, anyway–but after all my years around Harry and Ron whose stubbornness and embarrassment kept them from saying kind things to each other even when they'd been fighting and were desperate to make amends, it was actually sort of nice to know that there were at least two boys on the planet who weren't afraid to have a heart-to-heart.

"Fred was scared for you," I said as if this explained things. Because really, it did. Near-death encounters have a funny way of clarifying things and showing people what they really care about. "Now he's gone and you keep this with you as a reminder of your relationship. It's very touching, really."

"Yeahhh," George said, dragging the word out and grimacing slightly, very clearly still embarrassed. "Look. When we find the stone and get Fred back, don't let him know you read any of this, alright?" The grimace gave way to a dry smile as he added, "..the humiliation might be enough to kill him. Again."

"George," I said, mouth slightly agape in shock because I'd never heard him make any sort of joke about Fred's death.

George gave a soft snort of laughter through his nose but didn't respond otherwise as he unstoppered the bottle of doxy antidote. I stood watching as he applied a few drops of the liquid onto the bite mark on his hand, the angry red welt immediately paling. George sighed in relief.

As he was plugging the stopper back into the bottle, I thought I heard a soft pitter-patter of something on the roof of the tent, and no sooner had I looked up towards the ceiling did the gentle pitter-patter become a sudden, roaring wooosssshhhhhh as the bottom of a cloud fell out and began a rainy assault on the canvas roof over our heads.

"Do you want to go back out and keep looking?" I asked in spite of the sudden downpour. Because, reading Fred's words, sensing his fear of being separated by death from his twin, I suddenly had a better understanding of George, of his grief, of why he was so desperate to bring Fred back.

George was staring up at the ceiling now as well, listening to the hard, steady pounding of the rain against the tent. A rumble of thunder sounded somewhere in the distance.

He sighed and there was a look of frustration on his face, even though he tried to hide it, turning to me with a strained smile. "It'll be hard to see in this," he said. "We'll just take a break and wait for it to clear up. It'll pass soon." He hitched the corners of his mouth up a little further until the smile almost reached his eyes. "I'm sure of it."

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I know I enjoyed writing it :) as always, it's a bit on the short side but I'm hoping you'll forgive me when I tell you that this chapter wasn't in my original outline. I read a lot of Fred/George fanfic this weekend and was inspired by all the ones with them writing letters to each other. Either Fred writing to say goodbye in case he didn't survive the war, or George writing to dead Fred (honestly, even when they're beautifully and incredibly written, I hate reading those stories.. they make me cry too much. Haha. I can't stand Fred being dead..) But I really wanted to try my hand at a Fred/George letter and this chapter is what I came up with :) So maybe you'll forgive the shortness now that you know it's really like a bonus chapter! :D hehe

Believe it or not, you guys, we only have two chapters (and a little epilogue) to go on this fic. I know it doesn't seem like much but, as far as my outline is concerned, we're coming to the end of this particular adventure! Don't despair yet, worrying that things will be left unresolved. I will wrap things up with a nice little bow for you, I promise :)

Also don't despair simply because it's ending! As I mentioned earlier, I've already got an idea and an outline for a new post-DH Weasley Twin/Hermione fic that I will start posting as soon as this one is complete :) So be sure to "follow" me if you want to be alerted when the first chapter of that one goes up!

Thanks as always for taking the time to read and review. Your reviews make me smile like this :D