I just thought I would take a few moments to tell everyone I have another story up. This one features George Weasley. So, please, take a look at it, too.

Taken

Oliver awoke to the feeling of cold metal against his throat. It only took him a second to realize that it was a knife.

"Fascinating ideas these disgusting muggles have," a voice hissed in his ear, "Using knives to threaten and kill."

He was pulled from his bed and dragged to his living room where he was thrown into a chair like a rag doll. It took all his strength not to cry out as he realized who was threatening him.

"What do you want?" he asked.

A slight smirk stretched across the thin grey lips.

"I want you to tell me how to reach Katherine Bell."

"Fuck you."

The smirk quickly turned to a frown. He grabbed Oliver and flung him across the room into a mirror hanging on the wall. It shattered upon impact. Oliver could feel blood trickle down his forehead. The knife was once again pressed against his throat.

"Insolent fool. You can tell me willingly, or we can do this the hard way. Either way I get what I want."

"Over my dead body," Oliver spat out.

Once again, he was picked up and thrown across the room. This time, he crashed into his coffee table. The wood splintered and broke under his weight.

"That," Voldemort said slowly, "will come later."

He forced Oliver to look him in the eyes. Oliver closed his mind the way he had been taught when he had joined the Order.

"A real firebolt!"

"We won the cup!"

Voldemort frowned at the flow of memories from Oliver's youth. This one would be harder to deal with. He was much more resilient than Mrs. Weasley had been. His attention would have to be diverted away from Voldemort's attack on his mind. He took the knife and ran it gently across Oliver's chest. Then he pressed harder, just enough to draw blood. He did not want to kill the boy just yet. There would be much fun to be had once he had both Oliver and Katie in his grasp.

Oliver gasped in pain as he felt blood flow down his chest, but he forced himself to focus.

"We would like for you to play reserve keeper for us, Puddlemere United."

Voldemort cut deeper into his skin.

"Katie, you won't believe what happened!"

Voldemort growled angrily. The knife, like all other muggle instruments was proving useless. He did not have time to fool around. He tossed the knife aside and pulled out his wand.

"Crucio!"

Oliver screamed in agony as pain coursed through his body. He could feel his control slipping. His mind grasped frantically at slips of memories that flowed through his brain.

"Alright Katie, how do I apparate here?"

Katie pulled her covers tight around her neck as she listened to the thunder crash in the distance. She reached down to her stomach where a small bump was just beginning to develop. Soon she would have to see Dumbledore to have him cast the spell so no one would notice her growing belly. She had thought Oliver would notice when he had visited her that night, but he had not, much to her relief.

It was wrong, her mind told her. What they were doing was wrong. Oliver had every right in the world to know that he was going to be a father. He had the right to choose if he wanted to share in their creation's life.

The first drops of rain pattered against the window. She felt incredibly lonely, despite the knowledge that Oliver loved her.

A flash of lightning lit up the darkened room, and Katie could have sworn she saw someone in her kitchen. She told herself she was imagining things and forced her eyes closed. The sound of glass shattering caused them to open. She sat straight up in her bed.

"Oliver?" she called softly, "Is that you?"

There was no reply.

"Oliver?"

A gnawing feeling in the back of her mind told her that something was not right. She ignored it, however, and slipped out of bed. Slowly, she approached the kitchen.

There was a small thud, and she reached for her wand only to realize that she had left it on her coffee table.

"Who's there?" she asked.

The flat was suddenly quiet.

"Way to freak out over bumps in the night," she chastised herself and turned to return to her bed.

There was another bump. She turned just as there was another flash of lightning and saw a wand pointed directly at her.

"Stupefy!"

Angelina waited anxiously with Fred and George in Dumbledore's office for Snape to return with news. A few tears were already falling down her cheeks.

"It's all my fault," she cried, "I should have fought harder. I should have paid attention to my surroundings."

Fred squeezed her hand.

"It's not your fault. You did the best you could."

"My best obviously wasn't good enough," she snapped.

Dumbledore handed her a cup of tea and smoothed her wild hair.

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Weasley. They could still be safe."

"I'm afraid not," Snape's low voice came from the fireplace.

Angelina choked on a sob.

"What happened?"

"Wood's flat is essentially destroyed. Based on the nature of the destruction, I would guess that Voldemort tossed him about himself. I found blood in several spots, including on a knife."

Angelina buried her face in Fred's chest while George just stared straight ahead in shock.

"Was there a body?" he asked.

"No body. That leads me to believe he is still alive, if only for Voldemort's own sadistic pleasure. Bell's flat was empty. No destruction, nothing out of place as though she was simply taken away."

"How much time do we have?" Dumbledore inquired.

"A few hours, if he is hoping to convince them to join his side."

Fred buried his face in his hands. "They'll never join him. They would rather die than be on his side."

Angelina's face grew pale, and her hands began to shake. "Not if Voldemort has the right leverage."