ginny278 - Thanks for the review!

Chapter 8

Remus Lupin stared helplessly at the heartbroken face of Mrs. Weasley as she wailed.

"Percy - not my Percy - or Penny­ - and now George ­- oh, Arthur!" She collapsed into Mr. Weasley, who was looking grim and extremely worried.

Arthur mouthed silently over to Remus - 'no sign'?

Remus shook his head apologetically, then left, downhearted. He had found out years previously that Mrs. Weasley's boggart was members of her family (or Harry, later on) dead, and although it sounded callous to say it, it was almost certain to happen eventually that members of the Weasley family would be lost in the war. Not that Remus believed they were dead - or at least, not all of them. They would pump them for information first, as all three were members of the Order. And then, Remus thought, they would probably kill them, and deliver the corpses somewhere public where the Order was sure to find them, not so much out of respect as out of cruelty. It was an increasing phenomenon to find Order members' dead bodies, their faces contorted in pain, sometimes with visible injuries, though not often, as most Death Eaters simply preferred the Cruciatus Curse to inflict pain.

The only other possibility by which they would remain alive is if Voldemort tried to use them for ransom. This, though, was a false hope. The Order didn't have anything to give Voldemort, and they were losing the war. The only things Voldemort really wanted was Order members, dead, so the only offer he would proffer would be to trade the three Weasleys for another, more prominent, Order member - most probably Ron, or Hermione.

The entire situation, though, had become increasingly prominent among the Order. Order members that didn't live in the new Order headquarters of the mansion were sought out and killed, no matter how many charms and protections were put on them, and no matter how fast the Order came. There was an increasing movement for every Order member to use a Fidelius Charm on their house, and it was being put into movement. However, if this happened, then no Order member could ever go out of their house, thus rendering them useless, and unless they moved to another house, the Death Eaters already knew where they were and where the house was, even if it was hidden from sight. Particularly crippling, in Remus's opinion, although there was obviously no way to prove this, was Snape's intimate knowledge of the Order membership. This meant that new members were safer, but older members were in constant danger if they didn't move into the mansion. Another problem was that the mansion was fast running out of space, even with people sharing rooms, as it wasn't a millionaire's mansion, and they didn't have sufficient food for everybody either. Safety was a logistical nightmare for McGonagall these days.

Remus saw Ron storm in, the last of the team to come out. He guessed that Ron had probably been outside, walking his frustration off. Incredibly dangerous to do, perhaps, and certainly not something that McGonagall would have condoned, but when Ron was in a temper - as he almost certainly would be now - it was best to just leave him to his own devices, since he didn't have either Harry or Hermione to talk to now.

Ron came up to him.

"Where's the Director?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Minerva's in her office," Remus said, gesturing.

Ron swept by without thanking. Remus sighed, thinking of the change that nine years had wrought in Ronald Weasley, from the thirteen-year old boy he had known and taught.

Minerva McGonagall heard three door-shaking knocks and knew who it would be.

"Come in, Mr. Weasley," she said, then sighed inaudibly. She had already heard the results, but both she and Ron knew that no matter what, she must know any additional information.

"Tell me about this mission, Mr. Weasley."

"We left. I took Remus and Bill with me to search the house, which was on fire, and told everybody else to fan out and look around. When Bill, Remus, and I came out, without finding anything of significance, I shot up red sparks. Everybody returned except George. We searched for him, but we couldn't find him. All we know is that he was lost somewhere around the forest."

"Anything else?"

"No."

McGonagall paused and searched Ron's face. It was expressionless, but intentionally, it was clear that it was taking some effort for him to keep under control. She thought of perhaps offering to talk, but figured it would do no good, and might only anger him.

"Very well, Mr. Weasley. Dismissed until further notice."

Ron swept out without any further niceties.

George Weasley came to life to realize he was suspended in the air. Where am I? He tried to move his head and look at his surroundings, but found he couldn't. His eyes, however, could still look around, but his vision was too limited to see anything but a low ceiling, dimly lit. He started trying to figure out where he was by retracing his steps, but found this inconclusive. The last thing he could remember was being near the edge of the forest, following a set of footsteps in - then a flash of light and darkness.

Of course, the Death Eaters must have caught him. But where was he now? Why was he still alive? Was he being taken to Voldemort?

He heard one pair of footsteps ahead of him. His jailor, must be. He could also tell that wherever he was, it was unpleasant, as it smelled terrible. He doubted Voldemort would stand for such unsavory conditions, wherever he was. Perhaps it was some sort of prison.

Suddenly, he came to a stop (not any more under his control than the rest of his floating movement was). The spell was abruptly taken off without warning, and the Death Eater didn't bother to put George in a more comfortable position before arresting the spell, so George tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on his back.

"Oomph!"

"Get up," The Death Eater snarled. George got a glimpse of the man. He was fat, and tall, and clearly not one of the Death Eater's finest. Probably just a guard of some sort. The Death Eater grabbed George by the scruff of his neck and flung him to the ground on the cell.

"Got a new roommate - hope you two get along," the Death Eater snarled with a note of malice in his voice, and for some reason, George felt, a sense of irony. "Filthy Weasley," the man muttered quite audibly as he left.

George realized that the man hadn't been talking to him as he looked around. He was in a filthy, fairly small cell, with an iron door and brick walls everywhere. He wasn't, alone, however, as he saw another man crouched along the wall. His head was down, and his knees were up, so George couldn't recognize him, but he thought he might be an Order member, or at least somebody on the good side. All he could tell was that the man had been here a long time - his hair and clothes were indescribably filthy.

The man raised his head, and as he saw George, a feral grin came onto his face. George couldn't recognize him, but he could see more of his face now. He had a beard as well, which wasn't in a much better state than the rest of him was. The man didn't say anything, so George thought that he would probably have to initiate conversation.

"I'm George Weasley," George said, and proffered his hand to the man. The man didn't take it, but his smile only seemed to increase.

"I know."

George was bewildered. He knew? Should he recognize this man?

"Do I - know you?"

"A long time ago," the man spat. George couldn't help but feel that there seemed to be something familiar in that voice - something he couldn't quite place.

"Where am I?" asked George, deciding that perhaps he better solve the man's mystery identity after he figured out his situation out.

"You are, Weasley," the man said, standing up as if he hadn't in a very long time, "in the wonderful Death Eater prison - of Azkaban."

Dread suffused George as he remembered that Voldemort had captured Azkaban soon after he had attacked London. He panicked and looked around - he hadn't seen any Dementors around, and he certainly didn't feel their effects, though he felt almost as if he could catch the slight feeling of the dread they induced.

"No," the man said, reading George's thoughts, "no dementors here any more. Not often, anyway. They're used more to torture Voldemort's enemies, or Muggles."

The man spat the word Muggles, and for the first time, a crazy thought entered George's head - it couldn't be - but his voice -

"Come into the light," George said, hoping that he was wrong.

But he wasn't, he realized, as the man came into the light. He was older, and looked it, his hair was longer and darker and much dirtier, and he had a beard, but George could still recognize him.

"Malfoy," said George, his previously affable tone turning much less so. "I thought you were dead."

Draco Malfoy grinned back - a haunted, demented grin that gave George the impression that he had been through some terrifying experiences since the time anybody had last seen him.

"No," Malfoy said in a low hiss, his previous drawling voice all but gone. "Not yet."