This chapter contains actual dialogue from the books. I try to keep this canon compliant as possible.

Reviews are deeply appreciated - they keep me motivated to write more!

I also started a Spotify Playlist for the fic, since the music is important to the story. playlist/0OSIZBAb805vB4zyIq32al?si=Fe3MNPaEQ1emL9Ym9olMNg

"When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her"

- "Work Song," Hozier

December 18th, 1993

Hallway of the One-Eyed Crone

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Scottish Highlands

Harry Potter looked morose as he tucked a borrowed copy of Which Broomstick under his arm and made his way to Gryffindor tower. He had just bid adieu to Hermione and Ron, who were making their way to Hogsmeade, but Harry was forced to remain behind because he didn't have a signed permission slip.

"Psst — Harry!" George said, leaning against the wall next to the statue of the one-eyed crone. Harry spun around, looking startled - and then his eyes fell on the twins.

"What are you doing?" said Harry curiously. "How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?"

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, with a mysterious wink. "Come in here…"

They made their way into an abandoned classroom, and George closed the door behind them. He was beaming - he had stayed up the night before convincing Fred that this was the right course of action, and Fred had finally agreed — mostly, George suspected, because he wanted to go to sleep.

"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," George said, and he could barely contain his excitement.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"This, Harry, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the parchment fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we decided last night, your need's greater than ours."

"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."

"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Harry.

"A bit of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."

"Well… when we were in our first year, Harry — young, carefree, and innocent —"

Harry snorted.

" — well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason —"

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —"

"— detention —"

"— disembowelment —"

"— and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

"Don't tell me —" said Harry, starting to grin.

"Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed — this."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And you know how to work it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Oh yes," said Fred, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school."

"You're winding me up," said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

"Oh, are we?" said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

As the words began to scrawl out of the parchment, George felt an immense sort of pride. He loved Harry like a brother - truly, if they were related, people would say Harry's antics were just because he had been raised under the same roof as Fred and George, and you can't negate that kind of upbringing. Harry's eyes grew wide at the sight of the map forming, and George watched Fred explain the mechanics of the map.

"See you in Honeydukes!" George said cheerily, and the two left the room.

"That was a good thing you did, Georgie," Fred commented as they made their way down the steps to the entrance hall. "I don't think I would have thought of it — but you made Harry so happy right now, and that kid-"

"He needs it," George said, finishing Fred's thought. "Reckon Granger's going to give him an absolute nightmare when she sees it, though."

Fred laughed. "Granger will find the use - she's got her own sort of mischief, and she's rather excellent at it."

"Merlin help us all," George said, shaking his head ruefully.

January 29th, 2004

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

London

George tore through the crowd that had formed in the lobby over to Harry, who was slumped against the wall and looked as if he had aged twenty years in a single moment. His parents, Bill, Fleur, Ginny, and Violet were standing next to him, all looking incredibly worried and scared.

"Where is she?" George demanded, and Harry looked up at him morosely.

Bill shook his head. "They're not here yet, or if they are — they haven't told us. They're still trying to…" he choked up, and couldn't finish the rest of his sentence.

"They're still trying to sort the dead from the living," Harry said dully. "Ron's alive, but he's barely conscious - and they haven't found Hermione yet."

"What were Hermione and Ron doing together?" George asked. He knew it wasn't appropriate timing, but he couldn't fathom why Hermione and Ron would be in the same place after the row the week before. They hadn't talked about the row, but he caught her crying into her teacup the day before, and he knew that it was because of their once-again fractured friendship.

"I pushed him to go apologise to her," Violet said quietly. "He was going to come to the shop to talk to you, George, after he finished talking to her."

Harry began to look even more ill, as if his legs couldn't support him any longer and every thought of George's was worse than the next - where was Hermione? Was she hurt? And the one that pained him the most - a thought so terrible it made every cell in his body quake - was she even alive?

October 15th, 1994

The Great Hall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Fred and George jogged into the Great Hall, and George knew Fred was rather pleased that they had a crowd. He had been more hesitant with this plan ("Maybe we should ask Granger before we do this," he had said as they brewed the potion, but Fred paid him no mind), but he did want to enter the tournament. A thousand galleons would be the ticket to making Weasley Wizard Wheezes a reality instead of a pipe dream, and so he had gone along with one more of Fred's hare-brained schemes. The Great Hall erupted into cheers when they entered, and Fred announced what they were going to do - which led to more cheering.

"It's not going to work," Hermione said, sitting on one of the benches, reading a book.

"Oh?" Fred asked, sitting next to her, George sitting on her other side. "And why's that, Granger?"

She pointed to a thin blue line that seemed to glitter in the darkness that encircled the Goblet of Fire. "That's an Aging Line."

It was in that very moment, as George sat next to her, that he realised he could listen to Hermione explain why he was an idiot for the rest of the life. She could talk about how parchment was made or the elemental laws of transfiguration, and he would sit, completely transfixed, hanging on to every word she said. He had no idea why this feeling had started - or even when - but as she explained animatedly the reason for the Aging Line and how pathetically dimwitted their idea was - he had the overwhelming urge to grab her, in front of everyone, and kiss her - but that impulse was quickly squashed when he remembered - She's your brother's best friend, and he fancies her, even if he's too much of an idiot to know what everyone else knows. This is a crush - it will go as quickly as it came.

January 30th, 2004

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

London

The lobby of St Mungo's had filled even more, with anxious friends and family awaiting news of their loved ones. It was one in the morning when they found Hermione, barely breathing, under a pile of rubble. George saw just one single curl poking out of a sheet as she was rushed in to St Mungo's, and he felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his world. She was alive - but there was a possibility not for very much longer. Ron had been brought in several hours before, and he had sustained several serious injuries - but he would be alright, the healers said. Hermione - however - the situation was precarious.

Ginny sat next to her brother on the cold floor and slipped her hand into his. "She'll be ok," she said softly. "She always has been. She's a fighter."

George didn't respond. He felt hollow, as if all the joy he had ever regained after Fred's death had been sucked out of him. He noticed Shacklebolt making their way towards them. Bill clasped his hand and released it in greeting. Shacklebolt looked grim and weary, the lines in his face deeper than ever before.

"Twenty seven are dead - fifty three are injured," he said finally. "Our friends took responsibility an hour ago. Said that this is just the beginning. They don't know yet that Ron and Hermione were there - we're not releasing that information to the public. The suspicion is that Rookwood set the explosion, but Lestrange is the one who wrote the letter saying it was them."

Harry nodded, his eyes unseeing.

"Who murdered Fred?" George asked suddenly, and everyone turned to look at him curiously. Percy, who had by now joined them, looked uneasy. George had never asked - he had never wanted to know about Fred's death.

"Well," Percy shifted uncomfortably, "we don't know really, it was an explosion."

"Perce, who killed Fred?" George repeated. The tense silence persisted.

"Rookwood," Shacklebolt said finally. "Rookwood has always had a particular penchant for explosions, and your brother saw him running away from the scene when… it happened." He couldn't bring himself to say "when Fred was killed."

"Where is he now?" George queried. The uncomfortable silence returned.

"We don't know," Shacklebolt responded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"So you mean to tell me," George said slowly, looking from Bill to Shacklebolt to Percy, "that my twin was murdered by Rookwood, and my girlfriend could very well be going the same way, and YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS?"

"Members of the Order are out there now," Shacklebolt said quietly.

"With me," Harry snapped at George, somehow awakening from his stupor, "now."

December 11th, 1994

Hogwarts Library

"So, I was thinking of charming Mum's fudge that she sent us so that once we ate it, we'd get an extreme fever and then we'd get sent to the Hospital Wing and we'd miss that double period Potions on Wednesday," Fred prattled as George browsed the shelves of the library, looking for a book for their Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

"And then what?" George asked distractedly as he flipped through Defeating the Darkness: An Auror's Guide for the Laymen for Protecting You and Your Home. "You charm the other half so that it brings down the fever?"

Fred grinned. "Oh that's brilliant, George. We could add those to Weasley Wizard Wheezes - Fever Fudge-"

"Puking Pastilles," George said, finally giving Fred his full attention.

"Fainting Fancies, the possibilities are endless," Fred said happily. Madam Pince shushed at them and glared, and Fred smiled at her in what he thought was a charming smile. She scowled at him, and he shrugged.

"So why are we in the library, anyway?" Fred asked. "We're destroying our reputations as the lovable slackers. If anyone sees us here, people may think we had," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "become serious," and he gave a mock shudder.

George eyed the tables where a few students were sitting and studying. Hermione was there, her quill scratching furiously at a long roll of parchment, books spread across the table. He was amazed that even when she was concentrating, her hair wild, ink stains at her hand, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but before he even took a pace in her direction, Viktor Krum sat down in the chair next to her, and she looked up, an enormous smile spread across her face. He seemed to ask her something, and her smile grew even more, her eyes sparkled, and she bobbed her head. He felt a strong twinge of sadness, and then he turned to Fred. He knew, without even hearing the conversation, that he was too late. Again.

"I'm done here," he said brightly, trying to cover up his real emotions. "Come on, let's go see if we can get Malfoy to become a ferret permanently."

January 30th

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Harry made his way into a small room off the lobby. It seemed to a combination of a supply closet and office, with a large desk surrounded by shelves filled with bandages and other products. He leaned against the desk, watching as George closed the door behind him.

"Hermione said that they would only be found when they wanted to be found, and they're here, in Britain, which means whatever they're doing, they're revealing themselves," Harry said. "We need to put someone in your store, now. You're an obvious target - they know you are a member of the Order, your shop is easily accessible, and you've been photographed recently with Hermione. You're the only one in the Order with an easily accessible workplace, so we can assume you'll be one of the next targets."

"I'm not putting the showgirls in harm's way, Harry," George countered. "I'll close the shop."

"No, you can't. They need to be baited-"

"I'm not baiting them and risking my innocent employees get killed, and I can't believe I'm having this discussion with you of all people. I have thirteen businesses, we can't protect all of them. I'm willing to put myself in harm's way, that's the choice I made, but I can't make it for my employees."

Before Harry could answer, the door opened, and Neville slipped inside.

"I know who their contact is," Neville said breathlessly. "I know who went to your shop and sent them the stuff, I know where they're staying when they're in Britain."

"Spit it out, Neville," Harry said, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mum. Rudolphus is her-"

"Brother-in-law," Harry finished his sentence. "Narcissa- but she-"

Distress crossed his face as he remembered that he had testified for her after her lie to Voldemort saved his life. He had advocated for her so that she wouldn't go to prison - and in the end, she had acted as the go-between which led to the explosion at the Ministry. He rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers, as if trying to massage a plan into his mind.

"This is impossible without Hermione," he said quietly, and George knew exactly how he was feeling because he felt that way, every single day, for the past five years. George had been missing half of his heart, half of his soul, one of his main reasons for being. Suddenly, all the decisions they had made together were hoisted onto him solely, and the weight of his solitary existence had crushed him.

Hermione was to Harry what Fred was to George - a best friend, a partner, a soulmate. The person who knew the inner crevices of his heart and the surfaces of his soul. Through joy and through sorrow, their bond had been unbreakable. She was the first person to fight next to him and the last to leave, the threads of her life woven tightly with Harry's. And now Harry was contemplating having to suffer the same horror that George was living, and even the thought seemed like a pool of black water threatening to suck him under.

August 5th, 1995

Number 12 Grimmuald Place

Islington, London

With two loud cracks, Fred and George materialised in in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry had been shouting at Ron and Hermione, and Fred insisted they apparate in (now having just passed their Apparition exam, with distinction) to diffuse the tension.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

Harry seemed thinner, more exhausted than ever. Fred's and George's presence seemed to calm him slightly, but it was obvious he was very much on edge. It made sense, George surmised, as he surveyed the younger wizard. He had just spent close to two months with his absolutely dreadful aunt and uncle after witnessing the brutal murder of Cedric Diggory and the comeback of Voldemort. Truthfully, George thought, he looked better than to be expected after all of the trauma he had gone through in the past couple of weeks.

"Oh hello, Harry!" said Ginny brightly. "I thought I heard your voice."

Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap." George stifled a chuckle. If Ginny was flicking Dungbombs off the top of the stairs, he had done his work well in educating her properly.

Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape?" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . ."

It was true. Snape's top lip curled with derision every time he saw Fred and George, no matter what they were doing. Once, Snape had seen George reading a book on the couch and given him a double take, as if he couldn't believe that George had the ability to read, much less the temperament to sit still.

George found it almost impossible to spend the summer at Grimmuald Place, so close to Hermione, and say nothing to her about his growing feelings. He was now convinced it was not, as he suspected earlier, a fleeting fancy. Rather, it was a deep desire that flourished within him, filling every inch of his body. It was as if his feet were magnets, and they were pulling them towards her, his fingers coursing with an independent thirst to run themselves through her hair, to pull her close. And despite every cell of his body screaming for attention, he knew that rationally, being anything more than Ron Weasley's older brother was impossible, so he suffocated anything that could possibly give away his inner desires. It was maddening.

As the summer persisted, his secret passion grew even more — as he watched her pacify Harry after his shouting attacks, when she helped his mum with the endless amount of cleaning projects, when she curled up with yet another thick tome — George was utterly transfixed, and devastatingly smitten, and it seemed to him a tragedy of epic proportions that he was the older brother and would never have the chance to explore his feelings for her.

January 30th, 2004

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

London

At a quarter past seven in the morning, a young, blue-haired healer timidly made her made way to the Potter-Weasley brood. They all were grey, sullen, and exhausted. "Mr Weasley is awake, and he will be back to his perfectly sound health within the next few weeks. We'll keep him here for a couple days as he regains his strength, but his prognosis is good, and we encourage that if you can, walk with him throughout the hospital, it will do him good to get some movement."

They all murmured their appreciation, and waited expectantly for her news about Hermione.

"About Miss Granger," she began hesitantly, "She's in stable condition, but she was without oxygen for a very long time and she was hit with magic that we have yet to identify. She's alive, but we don't know when - or if - she will wake up."

George slumped against the wall, and Harry put his face in his hands. True, it was better than her being dead, but there was a possibility that she would be silent forever.

"We do not know when she'll awaken, but Muggle studies have shown that people who are comatose respond well to when visitors talk or read to them. I highly suggest you do this, it may speed up her return to the realm of the living." She gave them a sad smile. "On a personal note, I am deeply sorry that you are going through this. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger do not deserve this, and I hope you find whoever is responsible."

Mr and Mrs Weasley made their way to Ron's room, and Ginny turned to Harry and George.

"You two need to stay with her, in shifts," she said. "You don't know if they're going to come and try to hurt her. I'll run to her flat and get some of her stuff for her just in case — but we can't live her here alone."

Harry nodded, whispered his thanks, and then kissed her on the cheek. George's heart twisted momentarily.

"Gin, can you get her books?" George said hoarsely. "She's got a couple next to the bed that she's been reading… I want to read to her."

Ginny bobbed her head affirmatively, and within seconds, she was gone.

"I'm going to the office," Harry said, putting his hand on George's arm. "I have to debrief Neville to find out what he knows and what we can do. I'll come back later and switch with you."

George began to protest, but Harry waved him off. "You have to go home and take a shower, talk to your employees about what's happened and their personal safety. If you are staying with Hermione to keep her safe, you have to be awake and alert. You are of no use to her if you have no strength."

George nodded appreciatively, and made his way to Hermione's room.

He pushed the door tentatively and — there she was.

His heart plummeted.

It was almost as if she was sleeping, her dark curls spread across the pillow, a peaceful expression on her face. But her right arm was completely bandaged, her whole face, neck, and left arm bruised. Two healers were talking quietly as they inspected her back. When they noticed George, they gave him a sad smile. There were no words, he knew. Everyone had read about his spiral after Fred's death, and after the Witch Weekly expose, they all knew his relationship with Hermione. To both of their surprise, the Wizarding community had reacted very positively to it. And not even a week later, he was wondering if she would ever wake up.

He had no idea how much time passed. Ginny brought him her books, and he rifled through them. All of the books were Muggle novels, books he had never heard of. "Hermione," he said, his voice raspy, "I don't know what to do here. I'm going to read to you, because they said talking to you might help, and I… Ginny brought your books, and I'm just going to read to you until you wake up, no matter how long it takes."

George opened the first book — The Princess Bride — and began to read to her.

"'I love you," Buttercup said. "I know this must come as something of a surprise, since all I've ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second, more. I thought an hour ago that I loved you more than any woman has ever loved a man, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm.'"

He reached for her hand as he read her Buttercup's declaration of love. It had been a full day that he had not heard her voice or seen her smile, and he felt as if he had been drained of all the hope that he held in his body. His voice was thick with emotion as he continued to read to her, his hand squeezing hers.

"You were already more beautiful than anything I dared to dream. In our years apart, my imaginings did their best to improve on you perfection. At night, your face was forever behind my eyes. And now I see that that vision who kept me company in my loneliness was a hag compared to the beauty now before me," said Westley.

"Enough about my beauty." Buttercup said. "Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that."

February 1st, 2004

Day 3 of Hermione's Coma

"The healers were here an hour ago and they said that her arm is doing better," Harry said as George entered Hermione's room. "They're going to try some new treatment on her tomorrow to see if that speeds up her waking up."

George sat down in a chair and faced Harry. They had fallen into shifts - Harry watched her during the night, when Teddy was asleep, and George stayed during the day, talking to her about work and reading to her.

"Has there been any progress with catching-"

Harry shook his head. "No. We're planning a raid on Malfoy Manor but it doesn't seem like they're there right now. Neville rejoined — temporarily, of course, he's dead set on being a professor — so at least we have another pair of eyes for the Order."

George grimaced.

"When Hermione was petrified during our second year, she actually left clues for us so we could find the Chamber of Secrets," Ron said, making his way slowly into the room on a cane. He was recovering quickly, and despite his left leg having been broken in several places, he was attempting to become mobile as quickly as possible.

"This is worse than when she was petrified," Harry grumbled. "I'm going to get going - Teddy needs to be taken to school, he's been miserable the past few days."

"Does he know about the situation?" Ron asked.

"Not all of it - he knows Hermione isn't doing well and is in the hospital, and that George and I are staying with her. He misses both of you," Harry used his chin to point at Hermione and George, "and he's also started asking for a sibling, which," Harry seemed overwhelmed.

George chuckled, the first time he laughed since the accident. "You should probably ask Ginny to marry you already."

"I was going to!" Harry protested. "Last week, when I invited you all to brunch, but-"

"But I was a total prat," Ron finished his sentence.

George looked down at Hermione sadly for a second - he wanted to tell her that he was right, and she probably would have laughed and teased him about being right once in a while. He missed her, and it was an ache that consumed his whole body.

February 3rd, 2004

Day 5 of Hermione's Coma

"Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same...If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger," George read to her, mindlessly stroking he r hair. Every love quote he read to her gutted his soul. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle as he read them to her, whispered in her ear, pulling her into bed to just be in his arms.

February 7th, 2004

Day 9 of Hermione's Coma

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching George.

"I never asked you - you said you've been in love with Hermione for ten years-"

George nodded sadly. "And I was too much of a coward to tell her."

"When did it happen?"

George shrugged. "Not sure when it started, but I knew specifically I fancied her when she told me I was pathetically dimwitted in front of four hundred people."

Harry laughed. "So when you and Fred tried to use an Aging Potion to put your names in the Goblet of Fire?"

George nodded. "It was a dumb plan, and it was Fred's. I kept thinking the whole time we were brewing it that we should have asked Hermione what to do, but Fred was convinced we were right."

"Why didn't you ever ask her out?"

"A lot of things. I thought Ron fancied her and I didn't want to get in the way. Cowardice. I thought she would never agree to go out with me, and the one time I had worked up the courage to as her - the Yule Ball - Krum asked her. I saw him ask her. It was… awful."

Harry placed his head in the tips of his fingers. "I kind of went through the same thing with Ginny. I thought she was too perfect and she would never want me. And now…"

George nodded. "Fred was really annoyed with me for years that I wouldn't ask her out. He kept trying to create situations where I could, and I never grasped the opportunity. Fred was the ultimate wingman. But when I found out Ron walked out on you two during the war — I attacked him. I couldn't imagine how he could have left the two of you, defenceless. And then Fred died, and I wasn't myself… but when I got sober and really started rejoining the family, I realised I was still in love with her. But she now was Ron's ex, so it made it even more awkward."

Harry chuckled. "From the limited amount that I've seen, she's been happier with you than she's ever been. You gave her back her joy."

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched George. Hermione truly had regained something when she was with George that he hadn't seen in years. She was smiling more easily, she seemed less tense. George had somehow brought his best friend back, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

February 10th, 2004

Day 12 of Hermione's Coma

George was lightly dozing in his chair when he heard the door open. To his surprise, it was Professor McGonagall, holding what appeared to be a picnic basket.

"Eat," she said as a way of greeting, forcing the picnic basket into his arms. "I'm fairly sure you're not eating."

She sat down in the chair in the corner of the room, and watched Hermione for a second sadly. "How is she?"

"It's touch and go," George said. "She's not waking up, and…" his voice trailed off.

"When my late husband died," McGonagall began, "I started writing down all the memories I had of him and all the things I loved about him. And when I missed him, I would read what I wrote, and it gave me strength."

George swallowed. "How do you live after… you lose someone you love that much? I feel sometimes I'm living a half-life without Fred here, and now Hermione might die."'

"As you very well know, love persists, even in death. When my husband died, Albus told me 'to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.' Fred lives in you, in every action of yours, in every smile, in every laugh. It is plainly evident that even he is no longer here, you call upon on him, and his spirit provides you strength and courage and protection. You have given and lost more than most, and you have borne the pain of many men, but you have also been brave and kind and joyous. You are a fighter, but you are also a nurturer and a force for good. Love runs through every vein in your body. Hermione will awaken, and the love that you feel will continue, and grow like a fire. Life continues, because the basis of life is love, and love can never die."

He sat in silence for a long time, pondering her words, holding Hermione's hand tightly.

"You and your brother were my favourite students," McGonagall said quietly. "I've always loved the troublemakers, and you two were the biggest trouble to come to Hogwarts. But you both showed so much courage in the face of fear, you were devoted to your family, you nurtured the younger students after Umbridge's reign of terror… you made me proud, and you still make me proud."

George realised he was tearing up at McGonagall's words, and before he knew it, he had pulled her into a tight embrace. She seemed started at first, and then hugged him too.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at Hermione, who was still unmoving. "I needed to hear that."

February 13th, 2004

Day 15 of Hermione's Coma

"Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instantaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness, and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was time when they both loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other moral trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore," he read to her.

He closed the book, exhaustion in every bone of his body, and took her hand, lacing his fingers between hers

"Hermione," he entreated, "please wake up. I am not me if you are not here, and I miss you. If I could take your place, I would, but I need you right now. I am scared and I am lonely and I cannot spend another night in my own bed alone while you are here. Please, Hermione."

A minute passed, and then George felt the tiniest shift.

She squeezed his hand.

She was not awake, but her hand movement was unmistakable. She was going to live.