Authors Note: This story was written for Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Wheel of Death Wednesday. I chose Anarchy this time and Teh Kris Eh gave me; George Weasley, the trope of time travel and the location as the Ministry of Magic. It was meant to be a drabble; less than a thousand words; I got a bit carried away when writing and I don't think it can be classed as a Drabble anymore. Hope you guy's enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


Grief is an emotion that takes over your entire being. When grieving your heart shatters, your body breaks, your soul feels like it is been ripped away and your mind shuts down. Grief is all consuming. Supposedly there are five stages of grief. That's what a book he'd once read said: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. George thought that was bullshit. There was no way he'd ever accept the death of his twin, his other half, his yin to his yang.

He'd felt it the moment Fred had died. He'd been fighting alongside Lee in one of Hogwarts towers, battling against an unknown assailant when it had happened. The bond he and Fred shared was like a rubber band that connected their souls. They had grown up with the ability to feel the other's emotions and communicate through their bond, it was why they were so good at finishing each other's sentences. Their bond was warm like a bright sun, it was a part of both of them, keeping them anchored through everything they faced together. It had been that way forever, until it wasn't. In the blink of an eye the bond connecting him to his twin had snapped like an overstretched rubber band.

George had felt cold, empty, and broken knowing that his twin was dead. He'd collapsed to his knees, grasping at his chest with both hands, crying out his twin's name in distressed agony. Lee had looked at him in horror, understanding written across his best friend's face for a brief moment. A spell came towards them, and Lee took a defensive position in front of him. George was in no shape to fight Death Eaters; his entire world had shattered in a matter of seconds. For the rest of the battle, George had been largely absent as Lee dragged him through the school. Without Lee there was no doubt in George's mind that he'd have died alongside Fred. Lee kept his body safe, even if his insides were wrecked by an all-consuming grief.

When Voldemort called a ceasefire, George had stumbled through the castle, tripping over slabs of stone and slipping across puddles of blood in his haste to find his twin's body. He'd stood broken in the Great Hall alongside his parents as Percy and Ron carried his other half into the room, laying him down in the line of fallen fighters. Even in death Fred was smiling, his last laugh still etched on his battered face. A howl of agony had escaped him as he pulled Fred against his chest. He'd known he was gone in the depths of his soul, but seeing his body heightened the anguish that he felt. They had always been twins, how was he expected to continue alone, to walk the mortal planes without Fred at his side?

George had stayed in the Great Hall until the Death Eaters had arrived carrying Harry's body. Reluctantly he'd followed the rest of the survivors out into the courtyard, half paying attention to the events that were unfolding before him; Voldemort's curses not sticking, Neville's impassioned speech and subsequent beheading of Nagini, his own mother killing Bellatrix Lestrange. His brain didn't really register things properly until Harry raised from the dead for the second time in his life. The shock of the Boy Who Live's second resurrection seemed to short-circuit George's brain and he'd followed the unfolding events with a clarity he'd not had since he'd felt the band connecting him to his twin snap.

Harry and Voldemort had circled one another as Harry told Voldemort that he had destroyed the horcruxes, and then Harry had told a tale of how he was the master of all three Deathly Hallows, the Master of Death. George had grown up hearing the Tale of The Three Brothers, if he became the Master of Death, he'd be able to get Fred back. The hollowness that had filled him wouldn't be their if he's twin was still alive. He'd watched Harry defeat Voldemort, a plan forming in his mind, a pinch of hope igniting deep in the depths of his soul.


When the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up and all the survivors were occupied; collecting bodies, healing the injured, resting now that it was safe to do so, George approached Harry, the younger wizard where he sat against the side of the Great Hall. Harry looked exhausted but relieved.

"Harry, can I speak to you please," he asked the bespectacled wizard quietly. Harry had smiled sadly at him and nodded, George gestured for the younger man to follow him and led him out of the Great Hall.

"What can I do for you George," Harry asked him once they were stood in the courtyard of the school, George looked around suspiciously, ensuring nobody was nearby.

"I need the Resurrection Stone," he told him hoarsely, his throat aching from all his crying.

"That's not a good idea, it doesn't bring back the dead, it's only an imitation of the living," Harry spoke quietly, his eyes full of sympathy.

"I need to say goodbye, Fred was a part of my soul, I've been ripped in half," he whispered, his body shaking.

"I left the stone in the forest, I can take you to it but once you've said goodbye that's it, you can't keep the stone," Harry had replied reluctantly. George had nodded and followed his friend into the forest. It didn't take long for Harry to find the stone; he'd dropped it as he'd entered the line of trees. When Harry lent down to pick up the stone, George raised his wand and stunned the younger wizard. He also cast a disarming spell, catching the Elder Wand that flew out of Harry's pocket.

"Sorry Harry, I have to get Fred back," he whispered as he rolled his friend on to his back. Harry's eye's glared angrily at him as George took the Resurrection Stone out of Harry's hand. He tucked both wand and stone safely into his moleskin pouch where Harry's invisibility cloak already sat. It had been easy to swipe the cloak off the floor where Harry had thrown it when he'd made his grand reveal that he was alive earlier that night prior to defeating Voldemort.

Raising his own wand once more George disapparated with a loud pop.


George landed in a field of wildflowers, next to a small stream he and Fred had used to play in when they were children. He took a deep breath and settled himself on to a large rock that sat by the water's edge. With shaking fingers, he opened his moleskin pouch and pulled out each Hallow in turn. First, he wrapped himself in the Cloak of Invisibility, then he took the Elder Wand in his right hand and then the Resurrection Stone in his left.

"Bring back Fred," he spoke forcefully, willing his magic into the wand. Nothing happened.

"I am the Master of Death, I want my twin back," he spoke again, his voice wavering. Still nothing happened. George thought about the story of the Three Brother's, remembering that one was meant to turn the stone tierce in hand. Apprehensively he twisted the stone three times, thinking his twins name.

"Hello Georgie," a voice so similar to his own sounded. With watering eyes, he peered at the man before him. Fred. He stood wearing the same clothes he had died in, a solemn smile on his face. He looked the same as he had before the battle, he was clean, unhurt, his red hair falling in waves to cover his ears.

"Freddie," he gasped out reaching for his twin's hand. As with a ghost his hand passed through. Though he looked more corporal than the Ghosts at Hogwarts, Fred still wasn't alive. The snapped band within his soul hadn't healed.

"What are you doing here George," Fred asked quietly.

"I'm bringing you back," he answered.

"I'm dead," Fred reminded him.

"No, I can save you, I'm the Master of Death," George argued.

"One shouldn't meddle with death. Only one thing is certain in life, everyone dies," Fred spoke with a wiseness he hadn't held in life.

"What's death like," George asked him.

"I haven't been dead long, it's peaceful to an extent, I feel an emptiness though where you used to be," Fred spoke, holding one hand over his own heart, George copied the gesture.

"I feel empty too," he confessed.

"You have to go on with your life you know, Harry was right you shouldn't keep the stone, you need time to heal, to grieve, in time you will be okay Georgie," Fred spoke quietly, leaning down in front of him.

"Time," George murmured, his eye's widening as a new plan formed in his mind.

"Georgie what are you doing," Fred asked worriedly.

"If I can't resurrect you, I'll go back and save you," George told his brother, smiling at his twin a final time before tucking the Resurrection Stone back into his moleskin pouch. Fred faded away and George raised the Elder Wand, a new destination in mind.


It was easy getting into the Ministry of Magic; there was never many people there on a Saturday. Today however, Saturday 2nd May 1998 there was nobody at the ministry. Everyone who would usually be there had gone to help Hogwarts, so George walked through the atrium, into the golden lifts and straight into the Department of Mysteries without ever coming across another soul.

He'd been to the department once before. When he and Fred had left Hogwarts their seventh year, they'd taken refuge at 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius Black. When word had come through that Ron and his friends were in trouble, he and Fred had gone with the Order of the Phoenix to rescue them. It had been a nightmare of a battle, the first Order mission the twins had been on; Sirius had died and both Ron and Hermione had been on the brink of death when they had been rescued.

George remembered the feeling of horror that had overtaken him that day. You'd think the horror would have been due to Sirius' dying or Ron been attacked by malevolent brains, but it wasn't. George had harboured a secret crush on the curly haired witch since her third year at Hogwarts. Seeing Hermione on the floor, her chest ripped open and burning had been the worst moment of his life until Fred's death. George had been the one to find her, it was his shirt he'd pressed to her torn flesh trying to stem the bleeding as he knelt among the broken glass and golden sands of thousands of destroyed Time Turners. When Hermione had been safely transferred from the Ministry to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, George had found himself unable to leave her side. He'd sat next to her in the Hospital Wing every night for a week, waiting for her to regain consciousness after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

George shook his head, clearing his mind of the memory as he made his way into the Time Room. It had taken a few attempts to find the right door in the room full of revolving doors, but George was determined. Each time he had opened the wrong door, he'd drawn a cross on it with the Elder Wand and moved on to the next. It hadn't taken long to find the room that housed the Sands of Time.

In the two years since most of the Time Room had been destroyed, the Unspeakables had managed to right some of the damage caused during the battle. George remembered the destruction; the smashed Time Turners, a Death Eater with a baby's head instead of that of a grown man, Hermione unconscious and bleeding on the ground. George let his eye's scan round the room, searching for a golden hourglass. It didn't take him long to spot a small cabinet with five Time Turners inside. He approached it carefully and pulled open its glass fronted ornate doors. Reaching forward he plucked one of the devices from the shelf and gently pulled its golden chain over his head.

"George," a voice called in the distance, as though in a trance George followed it.

"George," it said again, his feet moved of their own accord, following the voice out of the Time Room and into the room full of revolving doors.

"George," the voice whispered, and a door opened on its own accord, George stepped through into a large room made of white stone. The room was like a stone amphitheatre, surrounded by seats, perfect for a midsummer play.

"George," the voice called pulling him along the way rats would follow the piped piper. George descended the seats as one would a set of stairs.

"George," The voice whispered, he was stood in front of a large archway, a dark curtain fluttering in a non-existent breeze.

"George," his name was whispered again, and he stepped through the shroud, entering the Veil of Death.


George found himself in what appeared to be a court room, it was dark, and he peered around confused. The last thing he remembered, he'd been placing the Time Turner around his neck, preparing to go backwards a few hours, to save his twin. How had he ended up here, where was here?

"George Fabian Weasley, Master of Death," a deep voice spoke from the shadows of the room.

"Whose there," he asked boldly raising the Elder Wand to defend himself.

"That won't work against me boy, I am its creator," the voice spoke again, and George paled as the grim reaper stepped out of the shadows. Dark and foreboding, a sharp scythe held in his skeletal grip.

"Death," George whispered, frightened.

"That's one of his names, Thanatos you are frightening the boy," another voice spoke, a female voice.

"Can you not let me have fun once in a millennium, Clotho," Death asked irritably.

"The boy has been through enough, put your costume away brother," another female voice chided. Death scoffed and before George's eye's he took on human form. He was tall and muscular with cascading blonde hair and blue eyes. The man wore a purple tunic held together by a golden belt and over his shoulders was a golden cloak. Upon the man's feet was a pair of simple leather boots. The man looked like he'd walked straight out of Ancient Greece.

"Why am I here," George asked quietly.

"Did you not ask us for your brother back," a fourth voice asked from the shadows. George nodded.

"Come take a seat child," the voice of Clotho spoke again, and a light illuminated a portion of the room he'd previously been unable to see. There was a row of four thrones; in three of them sat the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, each dressed in a similar style as the man, who walked forward and sat himself down in the last throne.

"Sit," the woman said again, and a small wooden stool materialised before them, George sat down.

"Who are you," he asked them, wide eyed.

"You've already met our brother Thanatos, more commonly known as Death. My sisters and I are the Moirai, more commonly referred to as the Fates, we assign destiny, we weave existence," the woman Clotho spoke, her hair was black and wavy, her eye's the same shade of blue as her brother's.

"Our names are Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos," she spoke again gesturing to herself first and then to each of her sisters. All had the same eyes, but their hair was different. Lachesis's hair was a long blonde plait that reminded him of Luna's while Atropos's hair was a rich shade of auburn and straight like Ginny's.

"If you are in charge of destiny, why did you let this war go on, let Voldemort split his soul," George asked them.

"Though we assign destiny, it does not always go as intended," Lachesis spoke quietly. George frowned angrily.

"Human's still have free will even if they have to fulfil a destiny. We knew Voldemort would bring great evil on the world so we assigned a destiny that Harry Potter would defeat him. How that destiny came to be, well that was influenced by circumstance, human involvement" Atropos spoke.

"That's fucked up," George muttered, and Thanatos laughed.

"I've been telling them that for years but still they continue to meddle in the lives of mortals. How could they not, after all they are the Spinner, the Allotter and the Inflexible," Death spoke gesturing to each of his sisters in the order they had first been introduced.

"I've heard those names before," George spoke with a frown.

"Most people have in some form or another. As the Spinner it is my job to spin the thread of life from my distaff to my spindle," Clotho spoke quietly and a golden spindle materialised in her right hand while in her left she held a long wooden tool wrapped in a long golden thread, the fibre ran from the tool to the spindle, which was spinning, winding the threads of life into new destinies.

"As the Allotter it is my duty to take a measured thread and allot it to each mortal with my measuring rod," Lachesis spoke she held a long stone rectangle in her hand, her measuring rod.

"I am the Inflexible, I choose how people die and cut their life chord with my sheers, so that my brother can chauffeur them beyond the Veil of Death," Atropos spoke calmly, a pair of golden sheers appearing in her hands.

"You killed Fred," George accused.

"I killed everyone, every mortal that has ever died was killed by me cutting their life chord, assigning their death," she replied.

"Why Fred, of everyone who died at Hogwarts why would you take the other half of my soul, we should have gone together," George spoke venomously.

"We had not foretold the level of suffering you would face, nor the lengths you would go to get your twin back," Clotho spoke softly.

"We hadn't planned for you becoming the Master of Death, of you wanting to meddle with time," Atropos spoke.

"So, what are you going to do with me," he asked them boldly. Inside he was terrified, he doubted he'd be able to stop them if they tried something. They were God's, deities. immortal beings while he was just a broken wizard.

"We are going to present you with an opportunity. Voldemort and this war have cost the Wizarding World too much, without interference we fear that your people may become extinct. That cannot be allowed to happen," Lachesis told him.

"What kind of opportunity, George asked quietly, hope blooming within him.

"Your perseverance has impressed us Mr Weasley, we the Moirai, are going to grant your wish and send you back, allow you to relive part of your life and change the outcome of this war," Clotho spoke kindly.

"Back to the Battle of Hogwarts," he breathed. He could save Fred; he'd ensure he was in the hallway when the wall fell. He'd prevent his twin from getting crushed to death.

"Further, you will not remember this conversation Mr Weasley, but you will have the opportunity to save more than just your twins life, to change the future for the better. Although you will not remember this you have our promise that we will not separate you and Fred again, when the time comes, your chords will be cut together," Atropos promised. George stared at her, his mind thinking of the possible places he could be sent. Would he remain in his own timeline, would he go back further, if he were sent to the time of Voldemort's birth, he could prevent all the deaths, his uncles, Harry's parents, Sirius, Fred, and thousands of other People who had lost their lives to Voldemort and his followers.

"You can also choose to return to your current time, and I will lead you back through the Veil of Death where you will continue on your original path," Death spoke evenly. George listened but his mind was already decided.

"Send me back to the past," George replied his eyes fixed on the Moirai. The sisters smiled at him, and George felt his vision go blurry, everything spinning, his mind clearing.


"Oi Georgie, watch out, that spell almost hit you," Fred yelled. George shook his head confused as he looked about the room. Why were they stood in space he wondered as he looked out at planets and stars? How had they got here? Why did he want to cry with relief and hold Fred to his chest he wondered as a red curse came flying towards him? On instinct, he raised his wand casting a shield to block the curse. Memories came flying to the forefront of his mind, they were at the Ministry, Hermione was in trouble.

He cast a stunner at the masked Death Eater, hitting his target quickly. Why did his wand feel more powerful he wondered to himself as he fired another spell at a different Death Eater?

"Great aim," his twin complemented, grinning at him.

"Keep your focus Fred" he snapped, an uncomfortable shiver running down his spine at the sight of his brothers smiling face. Fred looked at him confused and George hurried out of the Space Room. Fred followed behind, but George focused on following his instincts. He was certain Hermione was in danger. He ran through rooms like a whirlwind, navigating his way as though he'd been there before.

"Hermione look out," he yelled as he burst into the Time Room throwing himself in front of the Fifth-year girl with the strongest shield charm he knew. The purple flames Dolohov had thrown at her, cracked the shield and George felt as though he'd been hit by a Bludger when they hit his torso. Fred immobilised the Death Eater as George leaned over panting, from the impact of the curse.

"George are you okay," Hermione asked worriedly, her hands were on his shoulders, nervously holding onto him.

"I'm okay, just glad I got here in time, I'm sure that curse would have done a lot of damage without a shield," he told her with a smile.

"I silenced him," she told him quietly.

"Likely would have killed you if you hadn't silenced him," he told her, Hermione's eyes widened, and she looked at his chest worriedly.

"I'm fine, just a little bruised. Let's get out of here," he told her quietly as he scanned the room with his eyes. It was destroyed, glass and golden sand was all over the floor, three immobilised Death Eaters lay among the wreckage, to George's amusement one had the head of a baby. Harry and Neville were also there, each of the younger boy's looking worse for wear but alive.

"What happened there," he asked pointing at the man with the cherub like face.

"Sands of Time got to him," Hermione replied, George laughed and impulsively pulled her into his arms.

"I'm glad you're alright," he whispered, Hermione blushed.

"Shouldn't we be finding the others," Harry asked impatiently, Neville was nodding at his side, his nose severely broken. George nodded but first raised his wand and cast a healing charm on the younger boy. There was a loud crack as the cartilage realigned.

"Thank you," Neville spoke as the quintet made their way out of the Time Room, following the sounds of an active battle. They soon found their way into a large white amphitheatre; George was overcome with a sense of déjà vu as he descended the stair like seats to where a towering stone archway stood; a billowing black curtain shrouding its centre.

"George," a voice whispered from the archway, like a memory. George shook his head focusing on the battles raging around him. He'd never been here before so how could he hold a memory of the place. Around him Order Members were battling Death Eaters. They all seemed to be evenly matched and there didn't appear to be anyone who needed help. He looked around, searching for signs of trouble. Nearby Sirius was sparring with his cousin Bellatrix, each hollering insults at one another as their wands moved at lightning speed, spells shooting at each other like colourful fireworks in the night sky.

"Don't let him fall through the veil George," a voice whispered in his subconscious. His wand moved on its own accord casting a shield between Sirius and the dark shroud, just as Bellatrix successfully stunned the Animagus. She cackled gleefully for a moment before her eyes turned on him enraged. George found himself in a battle with the most feared of all Death Eaters, but somehow, he was holding his own, his wand seemed to be working independently, casting spells quicker than George could think them.

"Voldemort," a scream shouted, and Bellatrix cackled once more.

"Until next time kid," she whispered, turning on the spot. Instead of apparating she turned into a ball of darkness, like smoke and spiralled away towards the screams of The Dark Lords name. Around him the other Death Eaters were doing the same while the Order Members were turning into balls of light. One day he and Fred needed to learn how to do that George thought to himself as he lent down to revive Sirius.

"You saved my life, kid," Sirius spoke clapping him on the shoulder.

"It was nothing, just a shield charm, I'm sure you would have done the same," George replied, doubling over in a coughing fit, his hands covered in blood.

"Fucking hell," Sirius cursed, his grey eyes worried. George stared at Harry's godfather in shock, his knees buckling beneath him. He was aware of Sirius catching him and lowering him down onto the cool white stone floor, but then the world round him began to fade, dimming into pitch blackness as he slipped into unconsciousness. The last thing George heard was a whisper of his name coming from behind the Veil.


The smell of antiseptic met his nose, punctuated by the fresh scent of Lavender and Jasmine. A blinding light creased his eyelids as he became aware of his surroundings. George's eyes fluttered open squinting at the brightness unhappily as he took in his environment quietly. He was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts; he'd been here enough times to recognise the sterile white aesthetic. The curtains around his bed were drawn and Hermione was sleeping in a squishy chair at his bedside, her head resting upon the side of his bed. Gentle snores emitted the air, her breaths blowing softly against his hand. George smiled fondly down at the witch and reached forward tucking a lose chestnut curl behind her ear, his thumb skimming across her pale cheek.

"George," she whispered as her eye's fluttered open.

"Hermione," he replied, his hand still against her cheek, Hermione blushed, and George's smile grew, "Beautiful," he whispered as his eyes closed once more. When George regained consciousness for a second time Hermione was gone and Fred was sat in her chair.

"When did you become a seer," Fred asked accusingly.

"What, I'm not," he replied honestly.

"Well, it sure seemed that way to me, you knew Hermione was going to be cursed, that Sirius was heading towards that archway, I could feel your thoughts through the bond," Fred told him.

"I don't know what it was, I just kept feeling déjà vu, like I was reliving the battle," he whispered worriedly.

"That's not normal," Fred whispered.

"Well neither is Harry's ability to see into Voldemort's mind but he does that," George replied. Fred stilled his eyes wide.

"We'll find an explanation for this George," he told him quietly, rising to his feet, George nodded, and his twin exited the curtains that surrounded his bed.


George soon found himself released from the Hospital Wing, and he and Fred took up residence in their new flat in Diagon Alley. While living at Grimmauld Place they'd slowly started to furnish the flat and get stock ready for their new store; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They'd decided that now was the time to make a go of living alone, now that they were proper businessmen, especially with everyone returning home from Hogwarts.

The idea of living at Headquarters or the Burrow just felt stifling. Since awaking in the Hospital Wing a week ago the sense of Déjà vu had persisted, or perhaps it was a newly developed Sixth Sense. He kept seeing people and feeling an overwhelming sadness, like their death was imminent. It was strange, he supposed with Voldemort's presence at the Ministry the inevitable war did feel imminent and with war came death. It was only natural to be worried, but the strange thing was that George didn't feel worried in general, he felt worried about certain people. When looking at Kingsley Shacklebolt he felt fine but when he set his eyes upon Remus Lupin he felt despair, and an image of a blue haired baby flashed into his mind. He wasn't sure what was happening, perhaps he was going mental. He kept seeing flashes of things, a sense of having experienced this world before. Fred was worried about him, so George ignored it, and spent his day's focused on preparing their Joke shop for its Grand Opening. At night however while Fred slept in his room across the hall from his own, George planned for a future war he knew was coming. He could feel the threat of it in his bones.

George was stocking their Wonder Witch shelf with products when a knock sounded on the front door of his and Fred's store. His eye's darted to it, widening at the sight of Hermione. With a bright smile, he set down the box of Patented Daydream Charms he was holding onto the floor and hurried across the store to the glass door. Waving his wand, he dropped the wards and unlocked the door, pulling it open to greet her.

"Hermione," he smiled at her and pulled her into his arms, settling his head atop of her soft curls, breathing in her soothing scent of Lavender and Jasmine. Hermione sighed, her arms wrapping just as tightly around his own body.

"Hello George," she whispered against his neck, George felt a shiver as her warm breath skimmed his flesh.

"What are you doing here," he asked, reluctantly stepping back from his friend.

"When I came back to the Hospital Wing to see you again Madam Pomfrey had already discharged you," she told him nervously. George smiled down at her kindly.

"You came back to see me," he asked her quietly, his smile growing at the sight of the blush that lit her cheeks. Hermione seemed to blush around him a lot these days.

"I was so worried, Sirius said during the first war, Dolohov was renowned for using the purple flame curse on his victims. It slices through flesh and liquidises organs. Until you Sirius had never seen anyone survive the curse. You saved my life, with that shield. Madam Pomfrey doesn't think the silencing spell I used would have been highly effective against such a curse," she told him, her eyes were watering, and she was worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

"I'm fine, just glad you weren't injured," he confessed.

"Thank you for saving me, erm there's something else I erm wanted to speak to you about," Hermione's eye's flitted about the store anxiously, looking anywhere but at himself.

"Hermione what's the matter," he asked her, trying to catch her eye. Hermione took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"In the Hospital Wing, why did you say that I was beautiful," she asked timidly. George thought about this for a moment, should he confess the truth, that he'd fancied her for over two years or should he play it down. Hermione was his younger brother's best friend; how would Ron feel if he found out one of his brothers was attracted to Hermione. His new sense, the whispered voice in the back of his head was urging him to tell the truth, to be courageous.

"You are beautiful Hermione, I find you beautiful," he confessed to her earnestly. Hermione's mouth opened in a shocked O, her blush darkening upon her cheeks. Taking a chance, George brought one hand up to her face the way he had done in the Hospital Wing, he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, caressing her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. He smiled tenderly at her and leaned down, giving her enough time to pull away if she desired to. Hermione's chocolate eyes closed, and their lips connected. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her chest pressed against his own as their lips glided against one another. George rested one hand on the curve of her hip while the other tangled itself into her soft wayward curls. Hermione moaned into the kiss, her lips parting and George's tongue creased Hermione's, both dancing together as they explored one another's mouths. She tasted like the peppermint sugar quills George knew she loved so much. George groaned into the kiss, nibbling her sinful lips, kissing her as though she was his new Oxygen.

"George, have you seen the Nosebleed Nuggets," Fred's voice called from the stock room, "Merlin what on earth is going on here," Fed exclaimed stopping in his tracks as he entered the room. George pulled away from Hermione, panting, she stared up at him wide eyed, and George smiled down at her, hoping to sooth her worries, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead sweetly, wrapping her in his arms as he turned to his twin, silently begging through their Twin Bond for his twin to leave him alone with Hermione.

"Never thought you'd act on your feelings, He's been crazy about you for years Hermione," Fred spoke joyfully, shuffling himself back into the stock room and closing the wooden door firmly behind himself.

"You have," Hermione asked, tilting her head up to look at him. George found himself nodding and Hermione smiled. I've fancied you for a while too," she confessed, rising onto her toes to kiss him again.


George Weasley had a girlfriend, Hermione Granger was his girlfriend. The summer had flown by quicker than George would have liked. He and Hermione had spent every day of July and August together, Hermione working in the store and helping them out since their Grand Opening. She was amazing, perfect really. Hermione had helped them with products they were struggling to develop and was great at dealing with customers too. They'd spent the summer working together and steeling stolen kisses in the aisles of the store, the stock room, the flat upstairs. They'd had a whirlwind romance, enjoying the excitement of their new relationship. Fred would moan and shake his head with disgust every time he caught them together, often in a compromising position, but his happy smile always gave away his true feelings on his twin's new relationship.

Hermione and he hadn't been particularly good at keeping their relationship a secret, in fact they didn't even manage a week before his mother had found out. It was late, the store had just closed, and Hermione had been sat upon the purple counter next to the till, George had been counting up the day's revenue but had grown distracted by his girlfriend. He'd found himself stood between her parted thighs, his hands tangled in her hair, heatedly kissing her when his mother walked into the store.

"Oh my," his mother had spoken, her eyes wide with excitement. After a brief interrogation where she determined the length of time, they'd kept their relationship hidden from her, six days to be precise, his mother had nodded at them both, pulling them into a hug against her bosom. Within a day, everyone within the Order knew of the new relationship and his mother had started knitting matching sweaters for the pair. It hadn't been long until Ron and Harry arrived on the doorstep of the store, escorted by Sirius who had recently been acquitted for the crimes he had been sent to Azkaban for. Sirius had perused the store with an amused smirk as he listened to his godson and Ron, give George a talking too, to ensure that he'd always treat Hermione well. Both had made it clear to him that Hermione was their priority and that they'd seek retribution on him if he hurt her or made her cry. Personally, George believed Hermione was more than capable of hurting him herself if he ever upset her, but he allowed the pair to fulfil their role as Hermione's honorary brother's and threaten him. Surprisingly, Ron was okay with the relationship, something that came as a great relief to both George and Hermione.

So, the summer flew by, with stolen kisses with the woman he was quickly falling in love with. He still got the strange feelings, the sixth sense, most recently so when he saw Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley. He knew Draco was up to no good, that he'd eventually grow to regret his actions, that he would need help. Flashes of a cabinet, of clawed flesh and of clumsy attacks filled his mind at the sight of the blonde man. George still didn't know what to make of this new sense. He had no idea what had caused the sense to develop. He and Fred had started to look through old tomes in the Black Library at Grimmould Place, hoping to find reference of what was happening to him. So far, they'd failed to produce anything that made sense. When he wasn't searching for answers with his twin, he spent his nights planning for the inevitable war. He'd started making passports and other muggle documents for Muggleborn's. He was certain that they'd need a way to escape Brittan if the war got as bad as he believed it would, Muggleborn's needed to escape so they could avoid persecution, Muggle transport seemed like it would be the best course of action. He'd already drawn up a list of names of people he intended to give them too. Hermione's name sat at the top of the list, but he knew she wouldn't accept it. When this war came, his girlfriend would be fighting alongside her best friend.


It was the last day of summer, and they'd just finished locking up the store for the night. Hermione was finishing stocking a shelf while he and Fred were in the work room ensuring their brewing potions would be stable for the night.

"I'm going to go visit Katie for the night," Fred told him quietly as he added a Phoenix feather to one of their elixirs.

"Have a good night, say hi to her for me," he told his twin. Fred had been dating Katie Bell for over a year now. Both twins would be saying goodbye to their girlfriends, as the girls would be returning to Hogwarts in the morning.

"You have an enjoyable time too, O' Twin of mine, that meal you have cooking up in the flat smells delicious," Fred commented as he picked up a bunch of colourful flowers he had charmed earlier in the day. They each smiled at one another as Fred pulled out his wand. With a soft pop his twin was gone, and George set off to find his girlfriend.

"Hermione, I'll finish that tomorrow," he told her wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her away from the shelf she was tidying.

"It won't take long to do," she told him, reaching out with her hand to straighten one of the bottles before them.

"You my dear are a perfectionist, if I left you sorting shelves, you'd be here all night until the entire store was rearranged. I have one evening left to spend with you before the Hogwarts Express leaves for school tomorrow. I'm not going to be able to see you until the Hogsmeade visit on Halloween," he told her quietly.

"Two months," she whispered sadly, turning in his arms to look up at his face.

"You will be so focused on classes, the time will fly by," he told her leaning down to kiss her lips sweetly.

"It won't be the same, I'll miss seeing you every day," she told him quietly. "Not as much as I'll miss you. Now today isn't a day for sadness. It's a day for celebration. I promised you a date to celebrate your upcoming birthday, a witch only turns seventeen once you know," he told her, taking her hand, and leading her into the workroom and up the stairs to his flat.

"Wow," Hermione breathed quietly as she took in the flat. George was quite proud of himself. The hearth had been bewitched to glow with gentle orange flames, which gave a warm radiance to the room, despite them been charmed to emit no heat. In the centre of the room before the fire lay a large blanket, scattered with cushions, and rose petals. Candles lay on every available surface, the sweet scent of vanilla emitting in the air as they burned brightly. On the far side of the living room, he'd set up a small dining table for two, a candelabra illuminating the meal he had prepared for them. Gentle music played quietly, over the room, adding to the romantic atmosphere he'd been aiming for.

"I hope you like it," he whispered, leading her towards the table.

"George, it's perfect," she reassured him, leaning up to kiss him, George returned the kiss tenderly before pulling out Hermione's chair for her as she took her seat at the table. He pulled out his wand and removed the statis charm he had set over their food before taking his own seat opposite her.

"George, you made my favourite," Hermione exclaimed excitedly, her eyes fixed on the dishes of food on the table; Chicken Parmigiana, spaghetti, garlic bread and a salad made of rocket, tomato, mozzarella, and pesto sat atop of the table.

"Happy Birthday love," he told her sweetly, Hermione smiled taking his hand in hers and squeezing it.

"How do you know me so well," she asked him. George smiled at her across the table. He wasn't really sure how he knew that this was her favourite meal, he just did. Perhaps he should tell Hermione about his sixth sense, she might know what it was, or where to find out what it was at least. He'd tell her eventually but not tonight. There was no need to cause her unnecessary worry before she returned to school.

"I'm observant," he told her pleasantly and they both tucked into their meal. Conversation with Hermione was effortless, they discussed Arithmancy together, literature, they laughed at each other's jokes and regaled each other with stories of their childhood. They shared a bottle of Elf Wine and when their main course was finished, they each had a slice of the tiramisu he had made for them.

"When did you learn to cook so well, it's delicious," Hermione asked him, moaning in appreciation as she brought her teaspoon to her mouth, her lips closing around the spoon and sucking it clean before she repeated the action again as she took her final bite of the tiramisu. George didn't think he'd ever been jealous of an inanimate object before, but he was now. He watched Hermione finish her dessert, his hardened member, rubbing uncomfortably against his dark jeans.

"I always liked helping mum in the kitchen as a kid, she taught me to cook," he told her.

"Do all of your siblings know how to cook," she asked. George laughed and shook his head.

"Not at all, Bill can, but the rest of them are useless. Fred set fire to pasta the other day," he replied. Hermione laughed so much that she ended up snorting, her eyes widening, at the sound, her face flushing in embarrassment.

"That's one of the many things I love about you," he told her quietly.

"That I sound like a pig when I laugh," she asked.

"I love the way that when you are amused, your whole body shows it, you do that with every emotion really. You are like an open book. When angry fire burns in your eyes making them appear amber, when you are up to mischief, a secretive smile lights your face and your eyes sparkle. I love how expressive you are Hermione," he told her reaching to take her hand in his.

"I love the way you are able to bring joy to the world despite the darkness, that you make me laugh every day. I love the way that you are protective of those you care about," she told him standing up and leading him across to the blanket in front of the fire. "I'm falling in love with you George Weasley," she whispered, her lips claiming his in a passionate kiss. George let Hermione lead the kiss, one hand on her hip, the other in her hair, each of them letting out gentle mews and moans as the kiss deepened. Hermione pulled him down onto the fluffy blanket, his witch straddling him, her molten core, pressed against his hardness. All that stood between them were a few layers of fabric.

"George," she moaned, grinding herself against him, her mouth kissing its way down his throat, her fingers undoing the buttons of the azure shirt he was wearing.

"Hermione, he groaned, pulling her mouth back to his in a frenzied kiss.

"I want you," she breathed against his lips, grinding herself against his hardness once more. George pulled back, looking into her chocolate eyes.

"Are you sure love, I know you said you wanted to today, but you don't have to, if you aren't ready, we can wait," he told her seriously.

"George, I want you to take my virginity," she told him firmly, her eyes fixed on his. To George's astonishment she reached down and pulled the cerulean and white floral dress she was wearing over her head. He stared at her in wonderment, as she sat in his lap, in lacy white underwear.

"How did I ever get so lucky, your beautiful love," he told her bringing his mouth back to hers. He shrugged off his shirt. They kissed leisurely and George took control, languidly kissing, sucking, and licking his way along her throat as he flipped them over so that Hermione lay on the pillows bellow them. He kissed his way along her chest, removing her bra, he wrapped his mouth around one of her hardened nipples while he pinched her other between his thumb and forefinger.

"George," she moaned, her back arching towards him.

"So beautiful, he breathed against the hardened peak before switching his mouth to her other nipple.

"Please," she moaned. George smiled against her flesh and kissed his way down her stomach, leaving love bites as he descended to her heated core. Hermione's knickers were soaked as he pealed them away from her, throwing them over his shoulder.

"George," she whined, her pupil dilated eyes fixed on his face as he's eyes scanned her in all her glory. Her body was flushed with desire, her chest heaving heavily, her legs parted to reveal her most intimate part to him. Her dark curls were neatly trimmed, her vagina swollen and dripping. He'd never seen anything as beautiful as Hermione Granger in this moment.

"You're a goddess, he breathed, his tongue tasting her for the first time. Hermione moaned, her hands reaching to hold his hair as he continued to lick her, creating a rhythm, swiping through her folds greedily, her juices were the perfect combination of sweet and salty, reminding him of salted caramel.

"Oh," she moaned, unable to form words. George pushed one finger into her, pumping it into her tightened heat, as he lapped at her clit.

"Ahh," Hermione screamed her body shaking as she came. George continued to lick her juices, pumping into her as her walls tightened around his finger. Hermione's hands were clenched into his hair, and George moaned at the pain sending a vibration through her heated core. Hermione came again, wrapping her legs around his neck, her hands holding him against her heat, as she came undone, panting and moaning, her whole-body trembling.

"George," she gasped as he continues to lap at her folds, adding a second finger into her, pumping them together, brushing against her sensitive inner walls. Hermione desperately rocking against him as she screamed through her third orgasm of the night.

"George, I need you," she begged him.

"Not yet," he breathed against her clit, squeezing a third finger into her, Hermione groaning at the tightness.

"Please," she begged, rocking herself desperately against him. George continued to pump his fingers into her preparing her. He pressed his tongue against her sensitive bundle of nerves and Hermione came hard, squirting her release onto his face. He leisurely lapped at her folds, consuming the delicious liquid as she came down from her orgasm.

"Please," she whimpered. George sat back on his hunches, Hermione reaching out for him needily, her body quivering. He unzipped his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers, he kicked them off, his hardened member standing to attention. Hermione stared at his cock with wide eyed fascination.

"How will it fit," she asked. George smiled at her and Hermione sat up, pushing him down onto the cushions, her eyes full of curiosity.

"I've stretched you with my fingers," he told her, moaning as she took hold of his penis with tentative hands. She ran her hands gently up and down his hardened shaft, marvelling at it. She leant forward running her tongue against the slit of his cock.

"It's salty," she told him, leaning forward to lick it again, and then her mouth surrounded his head and Hermione Granger was giving him a blowjob, bobbing her head up and down, taking him into her throat like a pro her hands squeezing the part of his shaft that wouldn't fit into her mouth. It was clumsy, inexperienced, but it was the best oral sex he'd ever received because it was Hermione doing it.

"Hermione, I'm going to," he tried to pull away from her, but Hermione glared up at him, sucking him harder, her hands cradling his balls. With a shudder, he came, within her mouth, Hermione swallowing every drop.

"Was that alright," she asked him nervously, after licking his cock clean. George grabbed her, rolling them over so he was atop of her, crashing their mouths together, tasting each other's release on the others tongue.

"You are brilliant," he told her between heated kisses, his hardened cock brushing against her soaked heat. Hermione ground against him, her eyes desperate.

"Please George," she begged him. He rested his hand against her abdomen, casting a silent contraceptive charm on her, Hermione's stomach briefly glowing pink before returning to its creamy white.

"Are you sure Hermione, it might hurt," he spoke, his eyes locked on her chocolate orbs.

"I trust you George, I want you," she breathed, pulling his lips against hers. George lined his penis up with her drenched hole and pushed inside slowly. She was tight, uncomfortably so, his stretching had done little to prepare her for the size of him. George knew he was above average in size with a length of nine inches and a girth of six, his cock wasn't the ideal size for taking someone's virginity. Hermione's nails dug into his shoulders as he entered her, her whole body tensing at the size of him. George paused, his head hitting the barrier of her hymen. He reached down and rubbed his thumb across her enflamed clitoris, Hermione had tears escaping her closed eyelids and he kissed them away, her eyes opened.

"I can take it," she told him, his courageous lioness," George smiled at her, rubbing her clit harder, her back arching as she came once more. George pushed himself into her, breaking through her barrier with a solid thrust, impaling himself within her heat, their pelvis's slamming together. Hermione screamed at both the pleasure and pain of the moment and George froze, allowing her to adjust to the sensation of him within her.

"I'm so full," she breathed experimentally shifting her hips. George moaned at the sensation; his muscles taught as she rocked her hips against his.

"I think I'm okay, you can move," she told him, her fingers that had been so tense upon his shoulders loosening as she rocked herself with more force against him.

"I'm in love with you Hermione," he told her sincerely as he pulled out of her and thrust back into her. Together they built a steady rhythm, loosing themselves to each other, as he thrust harder and harder into her heat, the head of his cock brushing against her womb. Their bodies slide together like they were made for one another, Hermione's cunt stretching to accommodate his cock perfectly. George's thrusts grew more erratic as Hermione's walls clamped down around him like a hot vice, claiming his release within her. George collapsed atop of her, panting heavily, his penis still within her core. He rolled over pulling her with him so that she lay atop of his chest, her head tucked below his chin while her hand lazily drew shapes against his shoulder.

"I love you too," she whispered. George held her tighter to him and kissed her sweaty curls, his heart leaping with joy, as he wandlessly covered their bodies with a blanket from the nearby sofa. With Hermione stated in his arms, George slipped into a peaceful slumber.


Hermione and he had sex five more times over the course of the night leading into the following morning, exploring, memorising, and tasting one another avariciously never wanting the moment to come to an end. It was great difficulty that they pulled apart after sharing a shower together. George cast glamour charms on them both, hiding the purple bruises, scratches, and other signs of tomfoolery from prying eyes. Hermione took a pain potion to sooth the aching within her loins. Gathering Crookshanks and Hermione's trunk from his bedroom, George apparated them to an apparition point near Kings Cross Train Station. Together they walked hand in hand through the Muggle side of the platform, him dragging the large wooden trunk behind them while Hermione carried Crookshanks in his wicker basket.

"We could hop on a train and go anywhere together," Hermione mused, her eye's scanning the crowd with interest.

"Have a holiday together," he questioned.

"Or travel forever, leave behind the brewing war," she sighed, shaking her head.

"That would be a dream," he told her as they approached the magical barrier.

"But it wouldn't be us, we're Gryffindor's we fight for what we believe in," she told him.

"Fight for a better world, for the future," he told her, images of war flashing in the back of his mind, an older Hermione with a scarred arm, crying silently on a battlefield. George shook his head, whatever these flashes were, they wouldn't happen, he'd make sure they wouldn't.

"Fight for our future," Hermione whispered, George smiled down at her and kissed her. He liked the sound of that. In his mind he had the vision of him, and Hermione married to one another, reading by a roaring fire while their children played together. He'd fight for that, a happy future with the woman he loved. Together they stepped through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The Hogwarts express was steaming, the smell of burning coal rich in the air. Owls flew up ahead while families said their farewells to one another. It felt strange to not be going on the Hogwarts Express this year, a sense of nostalgia filled him as he took in the familiar platform. Hogwarts had helped shape him, had been his home away from home for seven years.

"Hermione, George," his mother's voice called across the platform, Hermione and he approached her and the rest of his family. Members of the Order were gathered around them too. Moody's eye revolved madly in its socket as he assessed the platform for dangers. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks stood together with Harry saying goodbye to him. Harry looked much healthier than he usually did at the end of summer, he hadn't returned to the muggle's this year, staying with his godfather instead. George could see other Order Members around the platform scanning their surroundings suspiciously.

"Hello Mrs Weasley," Hermione spoke, his mother pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

"I've told you to call me Molly dear," his mum reminded his girlfriend. Hermione nodded.

"Hermione where are your parents," his father asked eagerly.

"They were unable to come today, had an emergency at work so George collected me," Hermione lied. She'd actually told her parents she was staying at the Burrow the previous night and that his parents would be taking her to the train platform. His dad seemed to believe the lie, but his mother looked at them suspiciously. Fred and Bill were smirking at him, and he heard Sirius snort as Hermione fidgeted nervously at his side, a gentle blush upon her cheeks. They were saved by the loud whistle of the train.

"You'd all better get onto the train," his mother spoke, bustling towards Ginny to give his sister a final hug.

"I love you," he told his girlfriend leaning down for a final kiss, Hermione sighed against his lips, returning the kiss needily, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I love you too," she replied. George helped her get her trunk onto the train and watched as the red express rolled out of the station, his eye's fixed upon Hermione's face where she had it pressed against the glass window of the carriage, she was in. Both of them waved to the other a final time, each of them growing smaller the further away the train travelled. When the final carriage had left the station, George dropped his hand.

"You better have remembered the contraceptive charm George Fabian Weasley," his mother's voice sounded beside him, behind them his brothers and Sirius snickered. He nodded quietly.

"Good," she sighed, "I like you and Hermione together, you balance one another out," she told him with a gentle pat on his arm before taking his father's hand and leading him out of the station.

"You really need to improve your glamour charms," Bill told him quietly with a chuckle, gesturing to George's neck. George blushed his hand rising to cover the large purple bruise Hermione had marked him with the previous night, the glamour he had cast that morning had failed leaving the love bite on prominent display.

"Have a good night," Fred asked him as they approached the exit together.

"Best night of my life," he replied. Only two months and then he'd see her again, he thought to himself quietly.


Two months with just his hand for company was torturous it turned out. He spent his days daydreaming about Hermione while he was serving customers. What was she doing at each moment of the day, did she miss him as much as he missed her, he often wondered to himself? They wrote letters to one another daily, sharing anecdotes from their days. He wishes he were able to see her, be with her, smell the fresh scent of Lavender and Jasmine that cocooned her body. The days pass so slowly as though no time at all has passed.

Hermione writes to him about her studies, about Harry's newly developed crush on Ginny. She tells him about the new Potions Master who likes to collect gifted students even those whose blood isn't pure. George gets the impression that the professor doesn't like Muggleborn's who aren't gifted and frowns. She shares with him Harry's suspicions that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, Georges sixth sense tingles in agreement.

George finds himself sharing his Sixth Sense with his girlfriend. He tells her that something happened at the Department of Mysteries, he isn't sure what, but he tells her everything. The déjà vu he often feels, the flashes that feel like memories but are of future events. He bares his soul to her, telling her how worried he is. Relaying the plans that he had started making, his idea to evacuate Muggleborn's on Muggle transport. He told her how stupid it is that Remus and Tonks are wasting their time together, how life is too short to not be with the one you love. He shares with her his mistrust of Mundungus Fletcher and tells her about how he knows who is going to die in the coming war. He tells her he agrees with Harry about Malfoy been a Death Eater. He tells her his wand acts on its own sometimes casting spells he had never heard of before. He sounds like he should be admitted to a padded room in St Mungo's. Hermione sends him a brief note telling him that she loves him and that she is going to go to the library, find out what has happened to him. George feels a sense of relief, she hasn't broken up with him, she doesn't think he's crazy. George knows that if anyone can find the underlying cause of what's going on it's his girlfriend.

There letters become shorter after George's confession, he imagines Hermione surrounded by tomes in the library, meticulously compiling evidence of cases similar to his own while absentmindedly sucking on a peppermint sugar quill. The mental image of it reminds him of the blowjob she'd given him the night they'd spent together, and George has to take a cold shower, to relieve the tension. Soon September the 19th arrives, and George sends Hermione a basket full of treats, lavender and jasmine scented bath products, peppermint sugar quills, a slab of Salted Caramel, Patented Daydream Charms, and a golden watch. He wasn't sure if her parents were aware of the tradition of receiving a watch when one comes of age, so he sent her one himself. He'd embedded protection charms within it to keep her safe. He knew she was always getting into dangerous situations.

Towards the end of September, Hermione writes to tell him of the daydream she had while taking one of his patented charms. She must have been blushing like mad when she wrote the letter. She'd daydreamed that he was fucking her against the shelves in the Restricted Section of the Library, where anyone could discover them as they moaned wantonly against each other's lips. She'd told him that she'd been so wet and had got herself off with her fingers, her face burrowed into her pillows so that her roommates didn't hear her moans. George writes back, sharing his own fantasies with her. He imagines Hermione reading his letter at breakfast a heated blush upon her face as she excuses herself, finding a concealed place to run her fingers through her glistening folds. George likes this new development in their relationship and looks forward to reading every one of Hermione's desires, hoping he can make them a reality for her one day.

September fades into October bringing about a chill in the air as the leaves on the trees turn to yellow brown and red. The sunny days turn to days filled with fog, rain, and ice. There are reports of Dementors roaming the countryside and George feels even colder. Still, he and Hermione send messages to one another as the month continues, each of them desperate for Halloween when they can see one another again. Hermione doesn't mention her research, but he's certain she's still doing it.


George paced in front of the gates of Hogwarts like a caged tiger as he waited for Filch to open them. The caretaker glared at him, but George ignored him. Two months without Hermione in his arms had been horrible. He missed her terribly. Today he'd see her again. He could see a line of students making their way down from the castle, and he bounced excitedly, clutching a bunch of Gerbera daisies in his hand; they were Hermione's favourite flower. The gates opened and students started filing past him, George smiled politely at the ones he knew, searching the crowd for his girlfriend.

"George," her voice called and there she was running at him, kissing him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

"God, I missed you," he told her as he set her back on her feet. He gives her the flowers and she smiles brightly up at him, breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers. Interlocking their hands together they set off towards Hogsmeade. Halfway there Hermione gives him a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling. His girlfriend pulls him off the main path and leads him towards the Shrieking Shack.

They sneak into the shack together, finding a dusty room with an old bed. A few cleaning spells and it looks brand new, they strip off their clothes hurriedly, both of them desperate to feel the other's naked body against their own. Hermione's screams and wails as he slams into her hard, their nails digging into one another's flesh as they fuck in the shack, hard and animalistic. Two months is far too long to go without sex he thinks as he holds Hermione after they've both climaxed three times. Everyone in Hogsmeade must have heard their coupling but he can't find it within him to care, he's sure the tales of the haunted shack and the wails will be rife within Hogwarts. Only he and Hermione will know what really caused those sounds.

"I think I know why your different," Hermione spoke quietly, her head resting against his chest, George is certain his heart rate accelerates, Hermione can probably hear it.

"Am I possessed," he asked lightly, Hermione chuckles.

"No, what do you know of Ancient Greece," she asked him, her fingers spread out across his chest.

"Not much," he admits.

"Do you know what my name means," she asked him quietly.

"It's Shakespearean isn't it, from A Winter's Tale," he replied.

"It is Shakespearean yes but before Shakespeare the name originates in Ancient Greece, Hermione was the daughter of the Spartan King Menelaus and his wife Helen," she informed him.

"Your mum's called Hellen," he whispered.

"Strange coincidence. Originally the name meant Earthly Messenger," she told him quietly.

"Let me guess you're here to give me an Earthly Message," he chuckled.

"Another coincidence," she whispered. George stopped chuckling.

"What did you find in the library,' he asked her a feeling of dread consuming him.

"I researched everything I could get my hands on, even convinced Professor McGonagall to give me a pass to the Restricted Section. The phenomenon you are experiencing has been reported throughout history, enough that research has been done on it. Nothing is conclusive, I feel stupid even saying it, but the research kept coming back to the same thing," she told him.

"What same thing," he asked nervously.

"The Moirai," she whispered.

"Fate, the Spinner, the Allotter and the Inflexible," he replied just as quietly.

"You've heard of them," she asked, twisting her neck to peer up at his face. George shook his head.

"Sixth Sense," he replied.

"Throughout history there have been people who have claimed to have seen atrocities, the way you describe your flashes. Supposedly the Moirai hold the power to weave destiny. Most of the time they let destiny run its course, allow people to follow their natural path. In times of great loss however they have been known to change someone's path after they have lived the original one so that they can change what has happened," she told him.

"They sent me back," he told her, his voice full of certainty.

"I don't know what to believe, but I found hundreds of cases leading back centuries just like yours. It isn't conclusive evidence as nobody has proved that the fates actually exist, but people have experienced flashes of incidents as though they are reliving events in their lives. They experience déjà vu. The only thing different in your case is the way your wand is acting," she confessed.

"What if I had a different wand from where I came from," he asked her quietly, "would that effect my current wand," he wondered aloud.

"I'll have to research wand lore," she told him, leaning up to kiss him. George lost himself within her, focusing on the gorgeous woman before him rather than the confusing thoughts of time travel, and the Moirai. If he had been sent to the past to change the future, he would do, he'd follow his newly acquired sense and create a better world than the one he had come from.


Following his day in the Shrieking Shack with Hermione, George goes into Muggle London, to the British Museum Library, his girlfriend believes he'll be able to find more information on the Moirai there. She's right of course she is. Among thousands of books there is a section on Ancient Greece, god's, deities, and such. George spends all of his free time at the library, researching. It turns out that Muggles have a fascination with Mythology, with Ancient Greek Religion. He wonders what the Muggle's would think of the Wizarding world, to know that some of the things they considered mythical were in fact real. Would they be excited the way his dad is with all thing's muggle, would they be frightened, he wondered as he reads pages upon pages each night.

His research ends up been for nought, however. He learns of the origins of the Moirai, they were daughters of the primeval goddess Nyx, the goddess of night, who had been born of chaos. Nyx had many children; in addition to the Moirai (Fates), Nyx birthed:

Aether (Brightness)

Hemera (Day)

Moros (Doom, Destiny)

the Keres (Destruction, Death)

Thanatos (Death)

Hypnos (Sleep)

the Oneiroi (Dreams)

Momus (Blame)

Oizys (Pain, Distress)

the Hesperides

the Nemesis (Indignation, Retribution)

Apate (Deceit)

Philotes (Friendship)

Geras (Old Age)

Eris (Strife)

The ferryman of Hades, Charon

He didn't really learn more than Hermione had, the Moirai were goddesses of fate who personified the inescapable destiny of man. In the tomes he read the three fates were depicted as old, desiccated, ugly women who controlled the Threads of Life. Each of the Moirai had their own role to play in the creation of man's destiny; "the Spinner," who spun the thread of life, "the Apportioner of Lots", who measured it, and "She who cannot be turned," who cut it short. The deep voice he'd come to associate with his sixth sense laughed in the depths of his subconscious as he looked at the depiction of the woman. For some reason George envisioned gorgeous ethereal women; with hair of blonde, auburn and black, each with a pair of startling blue eyes. He shook his head clearing his mind of the vision.

Perhaps it was all nonsense, how likely was it that one goddess had birthed so many powerful beings, who had such influence over existence. Ancient Greek Religion, how much of it held truth, really explained the origins of the world, the existence of the mortal coil. Perhaps it was just ancient people trying to find reason in the world, reason for emotions, for life and daily experience.

He remembered his mother sobbing over the graves of his uncles Gideon and Fabian when he was five, consumed in a deep seeded grief that wrecked her body. Instead of feeling such emotion perhaps the people in Ancient Greece rationalised it, believed in deities who took their loved ones into the Veil, to the next adventure. Maybe it helped them to heal, to move on. Religion, putting one's faith, their trust into the existence of a higher being, something unverified yet believing in it anyway. Perhaps people put their faith in it as a way to feel comforted, in times of uncertainty, when things were unknown. George was unsure if he was capable of following something like that. His dad had always told him to never to trust something that can think for itself if you were unable to see where it kept its brain. To him religion seemed to be like that, how could he trust in a higher being if there was no evidence of its existence.

The Moirai, the fates, could George believe in them with so little evidence. Did he genuinely believe in this, that this was what was happening to him, that he out of everyone had been chosen to relive the years of the war, to change the future. He had no other explanation for the flashes of memories, future events he experienced, the ever-expanding list of those he was certain was going to die, Fred, Lavender, Remus, Tonks, Colin Creevey, and over a hundred other people. Should he believe that deities had intervened, changed his course of destiny, put his faith blindly in it, in them. Should he believe he had been chosen by the Moirai. George had never been a religious man, he knew there was a beyond of some sort, how else would ghosts exist, but what existed beyond their realm of existence was unknown to him, a mystery to explore when his own time came to pass beyond the Veil.

Instead of trying to rationalise his flashes, his experiences, George made the decision to but his faith in himself, his own actions, choices that he made on his own. Well as independently as he could with his sixth sense whispering in the crevices of his mind anyhow. He'd forget about the how's and the why's of his new ability and instead focus on the oncoming war, save as many lives as he could. The mysteries of the universe could wait until the forthcoming chaos had settled. After all it does not do to dwell on the dreams and forget to live. He needed to focus on the future, not a possible past he cannot remember.


November passes in a blur; he and Fred have been working overtime each night, brewing, charming, creating their products. Everyone it seems wants to gift their products over the upcoming festive season. They restock their stockroom each night. They'd always hoped their business would be a success. If only the other businesses on the street were doing so well. In recent weeks, increasingly more of the shops along Diagon Alley, had shut down, their proprietors missing. It's difficult to be happy about your success when signs of an impending war are all around you.

The brief moments of time when he is not preparing stock, running the shop, George splits his time between making plans and writing letters to Hermione. Fred tells him repeatedly that he's going to burn out, asks him to let him help with whatever it is he's doing, his twin sends pleas down their bond. How can he let Fred know what he is doing though when Fred's name is at the top of a list filled with people he was trying to save, people who he knows are destined to die? George refuses his twin's help, Fred becomes angry, and George is consumed with guilt.

"George Fabian Weasley, you will be coming to dinner on Sunday if I have to drag you there myself," his mother tells him sternly. It was the last Friday of the month and they were all gathered at Grimmould Place. Professor Dumbledore had called an Order meeting and as a member George had no choice but to attend. He'd sat at the table during the meeting doodling on a scrap of parchment as the older members argued over which missions to prioritise. His mother had cornered him after it was all over, demanding he attend a meal he'd been avoiding for months. She looks sad he thinks, she's lost weight, her face is pale and holds more lines. The stress of the impending war is getting to her he's sure of it.

"I'll be there," he promises, wrapping her in a tight hold. When did his mother get so small, he thinks to himself, he used to look up to her intimidating figure but now he has to look down to see her, the top of her head level with his shoulders, small but just as intimidating as she'd ever been?

"You may be an adult and live on your own, but you will always be my baby, the Burrow will always be your home. You are welcome to visit anytime you like," she tells him firmly and George feels loved.


Fleur Delacour it seems is not welcome within the Burrow. George finds it amusing that his mother holds such a strong hatred for the blonde witch who dared to date her oldest child. Bill had decided to introduce his new Girlfriend at the Family Sunday Lunch, Fleur worked with him at Gringotts, and he'd been teaching her English. His mother had taken an instant dislike, which was fuelled further when Fleur had complained about the heaviness of his mothers Mashed Potatoes. Nobody was allowed to complain about his mothers cooking.

Despite his mother's dislike, George takes to Fleur as though they had known each other for years, flashes of her in a wedding dress, shielding him from a curse cast by a Death Eater swim to the forefront of his mind. George decides he likes Fleur Delacour a lot and spends the rest of the afternoon talking to her. It's easy to speak to the witch and he end's up revealing his plan for the Muggleborn's, Fleur offers to contact her former headmistress, not all of the Muggleborn's were of age after all. George had been so focused on creating a plan to get them out of the country that he hadn't given that much of a thought, of course those aged eleven to sixteen would need somewhere safe, to learn magic. He hoped Beauxbatons Academy of Magic would take them.


December is busier than November, Christmas is approaching and despite the darkness and uncertainty in the air people are still trying to enjoy the festive season. George had always loved Hogsmeade at this time of the year he thinks to himself as he walks through the snow-covered village. The chocolate box cottages and storefronts are decorated in twinkling lights and depict festive scenes. A large, decorated sycamore stands in the centre of the village, a sparkling silver star at its pinnacle. Christmas garlands crisscross across the cobbled street and the scents he has grown to associate with Christmas are in the air, crisp snow, gingerbread, peppermint candy canes and open fires. Carollers are sinning Christmas songs and George finds himself whistling along as he approaches the Three Broomsticks.

"George," Hermione calls happily, she's running at him, her curls tucked under a knitted bobble hat, its pompom bouncing as she approaches him. A broad smile lights his face as they wrap their arms around each other, Kissing as snowflakes flutter down around them.

"I missed you," he tells her taking her hand in his. They walk around the village together, browsing the shops, they share a butterbeer in front of a warm fire in The Three Broomsticks. They talk about everything, and George is amused to learn that her and Harry are being forced to attend a Christmas party hosted by the pompous teacher she'd mentioned in her letters. He tells her about how busy the shop has been in the run up to Christmas. He loves how easy it is to talk to Hermione, loves how her button nose crinkles when she laughs. He finds himself feeling sad when the clocktower in the village strikes seven signifying that it's time for his girlfriend and the remaining students to return to the castle. George walks her back towards Hogwarts, fondly looking at the Shrieking Shack as they pass it, remembering what they had done there on her last Hogsmeade Trip.

"I've had a good time today, I wish we could see each other more often," Hermione tells him. George opens his mouth to agree when an ear-splitting scream makes them both jump.

"Katie," George whispers, his sixth sense tingling, as he pulls out his wand and runs towards the sound of the screams, Hermione at his side. They soon come across the scene, Katie Bell, was floating in the air, screaming, her face pallid, eyes wide and tortured. Her friend Leanne was at her side trying to pull her back down to the earth.

"What's happened," Hermione breathed.

"Don't touch the necklace it's cursed," George tells her, never taking his eyes off of his twins' girlfriend. How he knew there was a cursed necklace was a mystery, but Snape later confirms it. That night George feels guilty as he sits in the waiting room of St Mungo's with a distressed Fred. Wasn't he meant to be preventing these events from taking place, why hadn't his sixth sense warned him prior to Katie been cursed? Were some things in avoidable, a fixed point in time, unchangeable regardless of circumstantial changes he wondered quietly, his eye's following a spider that was weaving a web in the corner of the waiting room.

"We should have shut the store," Fred whispered, "I was with her all morning, she was fine, if we'd have been together all day this wouldn't have happened. His twin continued angrily. George closed his eyes, if they had shut the store, each spending a full day with their girlfriend's would it have made a difference? Would Katie have been cursed or would it have been someone else cursed, perhaps someone who had no gloves on, who would have died because of that difference.

"She is going to be okay," he spoke with a certainty, pushing his sixth sense through their bond to show him and image that had flashed before his eye's, an image where a one eared version of himself was congratulating his twin and Katie on their three years together. He feels the uncertainty, the hope and befuddlement that Fred feels and realises that he needs his twin to understand what is happening in his life, needs his help. They are too sides of the same coin, keeping secrets will only end with them hurt he thinks. He ignores the voice in his subconscious that adds the words or dead to his thought. He wouldn't allow that to happen.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas Day, George explains everything to his twin, the library visits, the plans, the flashes, his wand, his list of victims and of people he wanted to evacuate. He doesn't leave out any details and when all is said and done, he feels relief, a weight lifting off of his chest that he hadn't realised was there. They'd always been a duo; it had felt wrong to be planning for the impending war alone. Fred etches a determined look upon his face.

"We won't let this happen," Fred tells him, his eyes fixed on the names of the dead. Across the bond, he hears Fred's voice whisper, "I wont die," The flash of his dead face enters his mind next, smiling despite his lifeless eyes and George retches, spewing the contents of his last meal into the kitchen sink. He doesn't realise he's crying until Fred pulls him into his arms, both of them collapsing to the tiled floor.

"I'm going to be okay Georgie," he promises, George wishes he could believe him.


Christmas is a pleasant respite from the ongoing conflicts. The Daily Prophet reports more deaths and disappearances each day but safe within the confines of the Burrow they can ignore that for a day. It's a joyful occasion with hand knitted sweaters and a divine feast, they drink eggnog and pull crackers, content together. All of the Weasley's are present except for Percy (the prat), George can't find it within him to hate his ministry loving brother, he's certain he will see the light and return to them, he just hopes that its not too late.

They find themselves gathered in the living room, George is sat on a squishy armchair, Hermione resting her head against his knees as she reads from one of her new books, dressed in a purple sweater that matched his own. Remus and Tonks are unashamedly flirting after one too many drinks each and George smiles at them, hoping they will get their act together. He runs his hand through Hermione's curls listening to Sirius who is telling his younger brother and Harry about James and Lily, an album of photos held in the Animagus's hand's.

Christmas was perfect, until it wasn't that is. It's strange how in the blink of an eye everything can change. One moment he was contemplating pulling Hermione under a piece of enchanted mistletoe and then the next the wards were braking, an inferno raging as their childhood home burned to the ground. Death Eaters, firing curses at them as they scrambled out of the fire. A nightmare on a day that had been so full of delight. The attack didn't last long, half an hour at most in fact but it was enough to diminish their hope. At least nobody was killed, George thought as he wrapped his arms around Hermione to take her home.

"Take me to your flat," she whispered against his collarbone and George nodded.


Hermione didn't say another word that night, she changed into one of his T-shirts and laid against his chest silently. George could tell she was thinking, planning something. She'd tell him when she was ready to share it with him, he was certain. George wrapped her in his arms and closed his eyes; waiting for sleep to claim him.

When he awakes Hermione is dressed again and sat at the edge of his bed, her curls damp, he can smell his citrus shampoo, he misses the scent of lavender and jasmine he thinks as he sits up, taking in her serious expression.

"I need to obliviate my parents," she whispers to him. George can tell that she's given this a lot of thought, likely been deliberating doing it since the Battle at the Ministry. George doesn't argue with her decision, doesn't try to convince her to change it. Her parents were muggles and eventually they would become a casualty in this war if Hermione didn't intervene, keep them safe. He hold's his arms open to her and she's crying brokenly against his chest.

"I'll come with you, you won't be alone," he promises kissing her curls, sharing his strength with her. They'd get through this together and when this war was over, he'd find a way to reverse the spell, to return her parents to her.


The day after Boxing Day Hermione takes them to a small park close to where she grew up. It's a pretty place, there's a frozen duckpond and a weeping willow as well as children's play equipment. Hermione looks around with a sad smile at the place, likely remembering times she'd spent here with her family. George could imagine her swinging on the swings, feeding the ducks, sitting under the willow with a delightful book. He smiled at her, reassuringly and took her hand in his.

Hermione led him out of the park and down a small winding lane, there were snow covered fields on either side and down the lane he could see a tall steeple of an old church. It didn't take long to arrive at the church; it was a beautiful sight, its roof dusted with snow, its stained-glass windows illuminated by light. There was a small Christmas tree decked in tinsel, baubles, and lights by its large wooden door.

"I was christened there," Hermione tells him as they pass it, the road widening as more and more buildings appear, houses, all of them different; unique. Hermione leads him down the street pausing in front of a white picket fence. The house has two stories, it's whitewashed with a thatched roof. It has sage green windows of varying sizes. The house looks cosy, warm, there is an orange glow emitting from one of the downstairs windows reminding George of a warm fire. There are roses climbing up the left side of the property, vibrant and thriving despite the harsh winter. He thinks that the roses are likely a result of Hermione's accidental magic when she was younger. The garden is covered in snow, but in his mind, he imagines wildflowers blooming either side of the path that leads to a small sage green door.

"Am I doing the right thing," she asks him nervously.

"Keeping them safe is the right thing to do, we'll find them after the war," he tells her, her hand tightens on his as she takes an audible breath, grounding herself as she releases it between parted lips.

"It's the right thing to do," she agrees. Together they walk down the icy path, Hermione knocks on the sage green door, and they wait for it to open.

"Pumpkin we weren't expecting you until New Year's Eve," Hermione's dad greeted Hermione happily, pulling his daughter into his arms.

"Daddy," Hermione breathed returning the embrace.

"Did you say Hermione," a musical voice called from within the cottage.

"Hello Mum," Hermione called, reluctantly letting go of her dad.

"Don't hover outside, come in," her mother spoke again appearing in the doorway behind her husband. George finds himself been pulled into the cottage, he has to duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe, Mrs Granger tells him to take a seat. He sits on a pale blue sofa in a room full of photos of his Girlfriend.

"Which Weasley are you," her father asks him and George smiles.

"George," he replies holding his hand out to the man. Mr Granger had greying chestnut curls and green eyes, lines from laughter etched into his face.

"He's my boyfriend," Hermione tells them.

"Hermione's first boyfriend, Richard, do you have your speech ready," Mrs granger teased. Mr Granger scowled at his wife, his eyes alight with amusement.

"Every father is ready for the first boyfriend Helen," he replies.

"Daddy don't be rude to George, he doesn't need a speech," Hermione groans.

"Are you happy with him pumpkin," her father askes her.

"He makes me happy," she replied, squeezing his hand, George squeezed hers back.

"Keep her happy, upset her and all the magic in the world won't save you from my wrath," Mr Granger told him seriously.

"I love Hermione and would never hurt her," he replies, his voice just as serious as Hermione's fathers had been. Mr Granger grins at him, George had a feeling that he'd just passed some kind of test.

"Good answer son, you can call me Richard," Mr Granger spoke again.

They spent hours with Hermione's parents, talking, laughing sharing stories with one another about Hermione. It was bittersweet listening to tales of her childhood, knowing that they were there with the intention to remove those memories, supress them until the couple who looked so much like their daughter would be safe in the world. Hermione was the perfect combination of her parents; her hair and smile were that of her father while her eyes and nose were her mothers. Over the course of the afternoon George discovered that she got her mischievous streak from Richard while her love of books came from Hellen.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, I'll go put something into the oven, Richard can you make us some tea," Hellen spoke, smiling lovingly at her husband.

"I'm always making the tea," he grumbled but rose from his seat and followed his wife into the kitchen.

"It always tastes better when you make it," her voice replied. Hermione let go of his hand and pulled her wand out of her pocket.

"Want me to do it," he whispered, noticing that his girlfriend was shaking.

"No, start erasing evidence of me, the pictures, my bedroom, I'll meet you upstairs when it is done," she told him, her voice frail. George watched her rise from the sofa and enter the kitchen after her parents.

"Obliviate," Hermione's voice sounded from beyond the closed wooden door, and he sets to work removing all evidence of his girlfriend's existence. There were signs of Hermione everywhere, photos on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace. There were albums, scrapbooks, handmade Christmas ornaments on the tree, marks on the wall depicting Hermione's height. Everywhere he looked he saw signs of his girlfriends; spell books, knitting needles, peppermint sugar quills. He went through each room, methodically removing all traces of his girlfriend, packing her possessions into an extendable bag.

"it's done," she whispered as he waved his wand over her room, magically shrinking everything, moving it into the bag that lay open on Hermione's purple duvet. Together they watched as the final traces of her disappeared, leaving behind nothing but an empty guest room in a house that her parents would soon be selling.

"Let's go home love," he replied, picking the bag up and approaching her, she was holding Crookshanks to her chest like a lifeline.

"I don't have a home anymore," she whispered to him, tears running down her face into the half-kneazle's fur.

"You will always have a home with me," he replied, taking hold of her he apparated them back to his flat, staying with her as she cried over the loss of her parents.


"I adore Hermione I really do but I'm glad she's gone back to Hogwarts, her hair gets everywhere, and that cat of hers is a menace," Fred told him when he returned from dropping Hermione off at Kings Cross.

"Shut up Fred," he replied.

"Why was she so sad this past week," his twin asked curiously.

"She obliviated her parents," he informed him, helping himself to a butterbeer from the fridge.

"Fuck," Fred groaned.

"She will be staying with us during the holidays," he told his twin, Fred nodded in agreement.


At the January order meeting, on the last Friday of the month, George found himself raising his hand when Professor Dumbledore asked if anyone else had anything to say. All eyes turned to him, and the headmaster smiled at him, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. George had been intending to inform the order about the plans he had for Muggleborn Evacuations, Headmistress Maxime had agreed to take any students seeking asylum and had agreed to arrange safe onward travel for of age Muggleborn's who needed it. What came out of his mouth instead had Dumbledore's twinkle disappearing.

"Shouldn't we be destroying Voldemort's horcruxes," he asked the headmaster. Everyone looked at him, confused by the strange term. George felt just as confused but his sixth sense had forced him to ask the question. Moody growled across the table at him, but George kept his eyes fixed upon their leader.

"Mr Weasley a word please," the blue-eyed man asked, rising from the table, and gesturing for George to follow him. He did, following him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to a room that housed the Family Tapestry of the House of Black.

"How do you know that term Mr Weasley, did Miss Granger tell you about them," the aged headmaster asked him with a calculated look, his blackened hand holding his wand at his side.

"I don't know how I knew that word, what is a horcrux," he asked confused.

"I'm sorry to do this Mr Weasley," the headmaster spoke, and George felt as though his head has been ripped open, memories from two times, flying across his mind faster than he could process what was happening. Dumbledore was in the depths of his mind searching for something; memories of a war-torn Hogwarts burning, Fred's body in a hall full of casualties of war, Hermione kissing his younger brother in the heat of the battle. All these memories seemed insignificant to the headmaster; they went by so quickly George wasn't sure if they were real.

Then there was a speech; Harry and Voldemort were circling one another their wands drawn. Harry was speaking; horcrux the wizard spoke, listing all seven of them as he spoke of their destruction: Tom Riddle's Diary, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, Nagini the Snake, and himself Harry Potter. Harry spoke of how they had tracked down each horcrux destroying each in turn, the younger wizard spoke of the locations they had been found in and how Voldemort was foolish to assume they would be safe.

How did he know all this he wondered, and a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind? There were three gorgeous women sat in thrones each holding strange instruments, they were dressed in white togas with golden sashes. The woman in the centre of the trio was speaking to him, her blue eyes kind; "Your perseverance has impressed us Mr Weasley, we the Moirai, are going to grant your wish and send you back, allow you to relive part of your life and change the outcome of this war," she spoke. George felt the pain in his head increase, he wasn't meant to know this, it felt unnatural to remember these women.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD," he found himself screaming, raising his hands against the intrusion. Magic cackled in his veins, evicting the intruder from his mind. George opened his eyes, shaking with rage. Professor Dumbledore was on the floor, his purple ropes torn in places from the force of the magic that had exploded out of him. In George's hand sat the headmaster's wand. Dumbledore raised himself to his feet, panting, George glared, and the old, bearded man smiled.

"What the Moirai have granted you Mr Weasley is a gift very few are given. The information I have seen within your mind changes everything, perhaps we can change the outcome of this war for the better, limit the lives lost. Come we have lots to discuss with the Order," the older wizard spoke.

They returned to the kitchen and Dumbledore pulled a different wand out of his robes, he pointed it at Mundungus and then preceded to do the same with other low-level members; obliviating each of them in turn and directing them to leave the meeting, to return home. He finds it strange that one of these members is Snape but doesn't question it.

"What are you doing Albus," Moody asked aghast.

"The tides of this war have changed in our favour," the headmaster spoke. He told the remaining Order Members about George and the Moirai, about the Horcruxes. There was lots of shouting between his family and the remaining order members, Mad Eye, McGonagall, Kingsley, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks. Moody and his mother were very vocal on their opinions; Moody didn't believe he could be trusted, his mother wanted to coddle him, save him from the dark memories that resided in his mind. Everyone was angry at Dumbledore for keeping the existence of the horcruxes a secret, that the man had been planning to send three teenagers, two of whom weren't even of age yet after the dark objects.

"What do you have to say for yourself," Moody demanded, his enchanted eye glaring at George suspiciously when he'd finished interrogating the professor on his reasoning's.

"I've arranged for Muggleborn's to be evacuated through France; I've forged the correct documents for over 200 Muggleborn's I know died in my original timeline. Madam Maxime will help them in France and has agreed to take in all Muggleborn students at her school," he told them, hoping to stop all the arguments, to focus on something important. His dad looks at him with pride, his mother pulls him into a hug and Moody demands he brings all his plans to the meeting, George goes home and gets them.


George soon realises that he should have shared everything with the order when everything started changing, when he had originally started forming his plans, his lists, his theories on everything. It was much easier to be productive to actualize everything when it wasn't just himself and Fred muddling their way through everything.

By the end of February, Remus and Sirius had successfully evacuated over one hundred Muggleborn's and their families across the English Channel to France. Many of those who had been evacuated had been on his list of deceased victims. They'd be safe now; he was certain of it.

Moody and Dumbledore had taken over everything, the only responsibility George had was to share his flashes; his sixth sense with them, so he did. He shared every detail of them with them; telling them he was certain, that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater who had a mission within the school. He warns them of an attack on the Bones family and another on the Abbotts. He shares every significant detail with them hoping that it will help them. Dumbledore never askes for his wand back and George keeps it, he feels like it belongs to him, like he'd owned it in a previous life. Hermione tells him that the wand chooses their wizard, that they can change allegiance if their previous master was disarmed. George likes his new wand; he likes it a lot.

The highlight of February had been Valentine's Day. Professor Dumbledore had cancelled all Hogsmeade Trips for the rest of the year following the attack on Katie. Since Hermione had been unable to see him, he'd snuck into Hogwarts through the secret passage in Honeydukes' basement and spent the full day in the Room of Requirement with Hermione. The room had created a meadow with an enchanted sky. The day had started out sunny and it had been incredibly romantic as they shared a picnic together, feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries. They'd sat together watching as the sun set and the moon raised and then they'd made love under the starlit sky. It was his favourite day of the month, when dementors appeared in Diagon Alley a few days later it had been this memory that he'd used to power his Patronus charm, scaring the dark creatures away.


April brought with it news of Katie's recovery, Fred had been ecstatic at the news, and they'd celebrated with Firewhisky at the Leaky Cauldron, with Lee and Angelina. He hadn't seen his friends in a while, and it had been nice to let loose for a while to act his age; eighteen. Fred and his birthday had just passed on the first of the month, usually they'd have made a fuss about the occasion but this year they'd opted for a small get together with their family at the newly rebuilt Burrow. It had been a simple occasion but perfect.

George found himself spending more time at headquarters, with the headmaster.

"You're dying," he told the older man towards the middle of the month, they were sat in an old study, overlooking the muggle park outside, the snow had melted, and snowdrops and bluebells had begun to make an appearance. Spring was here.

"I have lived a long-life Mr Weasley, it is only natural that my time is coming to an end," the man replied.

"Why did you put on the ring, knowing that it was a horcrux," he asked quietly.

"A man who has lost someone most dear to them, will do foolish things to get them back, to see them again. I have lost many people in my life, family, friends, lovers. The ring gave me the chance to see them again, apologise for mistakes I have made in my life," the headmaster answered.

"Am I a foolish man," he asked quietly, thinking of the deceased image of his twin.

"Only you can answer that question George," the headmaster replied sagely.


Moody's battle plan isn't ready to be executed until June, nobody is one hundred percent on board especially the Weasley's but it's the best plan they've got. They allowed Draco to continue his mission within the school, they all know he's trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, Dumbledore had informed them of this, of the Slytherins mission to get the Death Eaters into the school and assassinate him. They use this to their advantage, unfortunately, they are unable to stop Ron from been poisoned and his younger brother spends his 17th birthday in the Hogwarts infirmary, his girlfriend Lavender Brown crying at his bedside.

Sirius goes to Hogwarts to see Harry; this is all part of the plan you see. They are aware of the connection between Harry and Voldemort, that they can see into each other's minds. On the off chance that Voldemort's not paying attention Sirius sits himself within hearing distance of the blonde Slytherin. George receives a letter from Hermione telling him all about the event in question; she tells him that Sirius want's to officially blood adopt Harry before he turns seventeen; that if Harry agreed to it; they'd go to the Ministry on Saturday and make it official. Of course, Harry said yes to this straight away, the boy had always wanted a family.

Two days after Sirius had visited the school Snape arrived at headquarters informing them that Voldemort intended to attack the Ministry on the Saturday after the dark lord had received a tip that Harry would be there. This of course was great news. Saturdays were always quiet at the ministry so if things went wrong there would be limited casualties. Their plan could go ahead.

Tom Riddle's Diary and Marvolo Gaunt's Ring were already destroyed. Over the course of the past two months, they'd collected up three of the remaining five Horcruxes, the exception been Nagini and Harry. Sirius had used his blood connection to Bellatrix to access her Vault at Gringotts with the help of Bill, easily collecting Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. The Goblins were happy to turn a blind eye to this, they didn't want such a dark tainted artefact within their bank. It turned out that Salazar Slytherin's Locket had been at Headquarters all along after it had been stolen from its original hiding place by a teenaged Regulus Black prior to his death. Kreacher had been more than willing to give it to them when they'd promised to destroy it. Professor McGonagall had spent a full day within the Room of Requirements and had eventually found Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. They had yet to destroy the three artefacts of the Hogwarts Founders, but they would do so soon with the sward of the fourth founder Godric Gryffindor. George believed this was a fitting end for the artefacts.


Timing is a very precise thing when planning a mission, everything has to happen at an exact point of time in order for the desired outcome to be achieved.

On Saturday morning they arrive at Headquarters at seven o'clock. Professor Dumbledore is already sat within the kitchen drinking a cup of tea, he looks decidedly frail, George suspects the blackness of his hand extends up the entire length of his arm. He doesn't think the headmaster has long left at all.

"I spoke to Severus this morning. When he is called to attend the Ministry, he is instead to go to Malfoy Manor and Kill Nagini, I have provided him with basilisk venom," the headmaster told them calmly as though he was discussing the weather.

"I don't like trusting him with such an important task," Sirius groaned.

"He is the only one of us who can get close enough to the snake to complete the task," the headmaster replied.

"How will you know when the task is complete," Remus asked next.

"Severus will send me a Patronus," he answered.

"I bet it's a bat," Sirius laughed.

"A doe actually," the headmaster spoke fondly and Sirius choked.

"Lily," he whispered, meeting Remus' eye across the table, both men staring at one another shocked.

"That is why I trust Severus to complete this task," Dumbledore replied, his head bowed solemnly.

"When Voldemort arrives at the Ministry, I'll let you know," Moody told him, gesturing to a golden phoenix pin he wore on his collar. George was quite proud of the pin. He and Fred had made them together. They used Hermione's charmed galleons as a base point, copying the protean charm she used to allow one to send basic messages. That's where the likeness to his girlfriend's invention ended, he and Fred had successfully embedded a Portus charm into each phoenix pin that would bring those waring them to a member of the order who activated their own pin. They'd given every member of the order one. Moody was to escort Sirius and Harry to the Ministry. When Voldemort arrived he was to touch his pin with his finger, the other pins would heat up and Dumbledore would destroy the three horcruxes they had gathered. Once destroyed, Dumbledore would tap his own pin so that Moody would get the message to activate the portkey feature by saying; Fawkes aloud, bringing the entire Order to the Ministry. They had to keep Harry alive, and Voldemort occupied while Snape took care of Nagini. Once Snape's Patronus arrived they had to allow Harry to be killed by the Dark Lord, killing the horcrux within him. If everything went according to plan, Harry would resurrect and defeat Voldemort, ending this war before it could truly begin.

Their plan was risky and none of them were certain it would work; it was the only plan they had though.

At eight o'clock Dumbledore and Sirius stood up and stepped into the fireplace, flooing away to Hogwarts. Now all they had to do was wait for everything they'd planned to fall into place. There was a nervous energy in the air as the remaining order members stood round the large table in the kitchen of 12 Grimmould Place, their wands held firmly as they waited for their phoenix Portkey's to activate.


The wait was agonising; it felt like they stood in the old kitchen for an eternity before he felt the familiar sensation of a hook behind his navel pulling him away to the Ministry of Magic. It seemed fitting that they had decided to have what would hopefully be their last battle here, the place where he'd first discovered his Sixth Sense, just over a year ago in fact. The Battle in the Department of Mysteries had taken place on the 18th of June 1996 and today's battle was taking place on the 21st of June 1997. He'd been experiencing his flashes for a year and three days. He'd spent most of the past year agonising over them, worried, terrified of what the future would hold, reluctant to share this new sense with the people he trusted. He' let his girlfriend and twin in on it eventually but even with their assistance he'd felt like a floundering fish out of water. Then with one sentence "Shouldn't we be destroying Voldemort's horcruxes," spoken at the end of January, he'd found comrades, abled soldiers who had survived the first war, Aurors, fighters, strategists. They'd taken week plans he'd been working on with Fred and turned them into battle plans in a way that he and his twin wouldn't have been able too.

Materializing into the Ministry Atrium, George held the white wand, which had formally been Dumbledore's in his hand, trusting it to keep him safe. Its power radiated beneath his fingers as he took stock of the situation around him. It was chaos, the fountain of magical brethren that had stood at the centre of the room was no more, obliterated to dust, water flooding around them. Death Eater's, Order members and Aurors were firing curses at one another; deadly curses he realised with a start. Nobody was firing stunning curses today; instead, the Killing curse and other deadly curses lit up the air; Dolohov was firing his purple flame curse indiscriminately, uncaring if he hit friend or foe in the fray, one of his purple flames missing Tonks by millimetres as the metamorphous fought against Lucius Malfoy.

George raised his wand at the dark-haired Death Eater; firing a blasting spell at his wand arm, a loud crack echoed in the atrium as the bones within Dolohov's arm broke, his wand dropping with a splash into the water at their feet.

"Hello again Weasley," a cackling voice spoke, and George found himself battling Bellatrix Lestrange as he had at the previous battle, his white wand slashing curses through the air like a whip, deflecting her curses back towards her with satisfaction, as he layered his own curses against her. Behind Bellatrix he could see Dumbledore battling against Voldemort, the aged headmaster holding his own even in his fragile state. Then again perhaps they were equally matched, after all Voldemort had now lost five horcruxes, Dumbledore would have destroyed the founders' artefacts prior to his arrival at the ministry, it was all part of their plan.

Bellatrix was growing enraged before him, annoyed that none of her curses were hitting their mark. "Avada Kedavra," the curly haired witch screamed. George only just managed to dodge the spell, the green curse licking his hair as it sailed over head.

"You fight like an experienced soldier, it will be such a shame to waste such pureblood, if you change sides, my lord can give you greatness," Bellatrix's venomous voice spoke across the distance between them.

"I'd choose death before choosing to join your master," George spat.

"Then death I shall grant you," she cackled, sending three killing curses towards him in quick succession, George dropped to the floor panting. A pained scream filled the hall, and everything stopped, all eyes followed the sound, to the snake like figure of the Dark Lord.

"Master," Bellatrix screamed, wading through the knee-deep water to Voldemort's side. Voldemort was on the ground, withering in the water, an inhuman screech emitting from his throat as he stared at the gilded ceiling with unseeing red eyes.

A white doe galloped into the room, stopping beside the fallen wizard, its eyes fixed on the figure of Dumbledore who stood three feet away, in his twinkling midnight robes; "the task is complete Albus," the voice of Severus Snape spoke smoothly from the glowing Patronus before the doe faded out of existence.

Six down only Harry to go, George thought worriedly, his eye's finding Harry in the hall. The younger wizard, not yet seventeen stood back-to-back with his godfather, his wand raised against a masked opponent.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort gasped wildly, his eye's searching the room as he scrambled to his feet.

"Master," she whispered adoringly.

"Fetch me Potter, the boy dies today," Voldemort spoke angrily.

"Yes Master," she bowed. Bellatrix turned and pointed her wand towards where Harry stood, Sirius stepped in front of his godson protectively. This wasn't part of the plan, they needed Harry to be killed by Voldemort.

"Blood traitor cousin, you have something I want," Bellatrix laughed casting a dark orange spell towards Sirius, Sirius raised a shield to block it, but the shield cracked upon the impact of the spell, sending Sirius to the ground screaming as his skin blistered.

"Like my new spell," she cackled. George watched helplessly as she raised her wand again, "Imperio," she called. Despite the agony Sirius must be experiencing he raised to his feet, his eye's blank.

"Sirius," Harry asked worriedly, instead of replying, Sirius turned grabbing his godson and dragging him across the atrium to where Voldemort stood. Sirius threw Harry at the Dark Lords feet and the Death Eaters laughed.

"Good doggy," Bellatrix cackled, flicking her wand dismissively, Sirius went flying across the room, landing with a splash in the rising water, it was at waist level now.

"How long I have waited to kill you Harry Potter, you will not escape me today," Voldemort called casting and iridescent ward around them, the kind George had seen during duelling tournaments, to prevent spells from escaping and entering the designated area. Harry stumbled to his feet, angry tears escaping his eyes, which were fixed on where Sirius had landed. The pain filled whines of the Animagus were the only sound within the room as everyone looked at the two wizards, fated to end the other; neither can live while the other survives after all.

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort spoke again, and the green light of the killing curse hit Harry in the centre of the chest, the distraught wizard had no chance to avoid it. They watched as the curse hit the sixteen-year-old, the green light reflecting in the water and the boy's eyes. Harry fell backwards, motionless, still, floating in the flooding water.

"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort spoke reverently. Bow before your new master and I may spare your insignificant lives," the red eyed man told them as he stepped out of the wards he had cast, grandly, waving his wand to remove the water within the room.

"Tom you will never rule our world, your horcruxes are destroyed, you are mortal once more. It will be you who will die today," Dumbledore spoke calmly stepping before the dark wizard.

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort spoke aiming his wand at Dumbledore.

"Expelliarmus," another voice called, Harry's voice. The boy had stepped in front of the headmaster his wand steady. George had been so focused on Voldemort and Dumbledore that he hadn't seen Harry getting up off the ground. Voldemort's eyes widened as his green spell connected with Harry's red one; producing a Priori Incantatem. The spells merged in the middle both wizards concentrating on sending their own spell closer to the other. Slowly the glowing orb at the centre of the connected spells moved towards Voldemort, inching closer and closer to its target. Voldemort unable to stop it, tried to let go of his wand to escape the two curses that were moving towards him, but magic held it steady in his grip. The two curses hit the snake like wizard and the wand in his skeletal grip sored through the air into Harry's hand while Voldemort dropped to the ground, his mortal body still forever more.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Bellatrix screamed falling to her knees beside his corpse. The remaining Death Eaters were spooked, some tried fighting, others tried to flee but they'd planned for this. A ward placed upon the ministry by Dumbledore himself prevented anyone with the Dark Mark from leaving the building. They soon had the remaining Death Eaters captured, the Aurors taking charge of the situation.


The Final Battle, that's what the Daily Prophet was calling the events that unfolded on the 21st of June 1997. The battle lasted an hour and forty-five minutes; 10 Aurors lost their lives during the battle as did Order Member and ex-Auror Alastor Moody. George raised a glass to the eleven fallen, thankful that the flashes, images of children's bodies in the Great Hall of Hogwarts would never become a reality.

Many people had been injured during the battle, but all made full recoveries after a stay in St Mungo's. Sirius Black was left with scars from the blisters his cousin had cast upon him, but the Animagus believed that they made him look more roguishly handsome.

Dumbledore succumbed to the dark curse caused by Marvolo Gaunt's Ring two weeks after the battle and the entire country mourned the late headmaster, his Funeral had been held at Hogwarts. After his death Professor McGonagall had become Headmistress of the school.

After the Funeral Sirius took Harry to the Ministry and officially adopted his Godson, binding them in blood as father and son, something that should have been made official after the Death of Harry's parent's many years ago. Both of them were happy to finally have a family.

All of the Death Eaters were sentenced to Azkaban with the exception of Draco Malfoy. The blonde wizard had been branded against his will and his mother's life had been threatened if he didn't comply. With Lucius and Bellatrix out of the picture, Narcissa made amends with her sister Andromeda Tonks and was finally able to meet her niece for the first time. The Metamorphous and her son surprisingly became fast friends; it turned out that every Slytherin should have a Hufflepuff in their lives.

Life became ordinary, simple, they were at peace. The shops in Diagon Alley reopened, the Dementors were banished back to Azkaban. George spent his day's tinkering in the workroom with his twin as they created new products for their store. They also joyfully served customers, providing pranking opportunities for the next generation of pranksters.

Hermione spent the summer after her Sixth Year living at their flat. His girlfriend's brain was a goldmine of knowledge, and she spent the summer happily helping them develop new inventions. Each night when the store closed the pair of them would go on evening dates together in Muggle London; they had meals in fancy restaurants, pleasant walks in moonlit parks and even went dancing a few times. Each night they'd make love and fall asleep in each other's arms.


Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year where she was made Head Girl, George couldn't have been prouder of his girlfriend. They continued exchanging letters each day while she completed her NEWT'S. Every Hogsmeade visit he'd visit her, and they'd spend the day together; enjoying their time together as any young couple would do; exploring the village together hand in hand and sneaking away from the crowds to kiss one another in darkened alleyway's. He routinely snuck through the secret passages to visit her at school, and they fulfilled her fantasy of having sex in the Restricted Section of the Library, Hermione had bruises on her back for a week afterwards from the bookshelves she had been pressed against as they fucked one another.

George surprised Hermione at her Graduation ceremony, he'd successfully tracked down her parents in Australia and reversed the obliviating charm that she had cast on them. Hermione had burst into tears when her father had said, "hello pumpkin." Seeing her cocooned in the arms of her parents filled George with joy. His girlfriend deserved to be happy, and she was.

Hermione and he spent their lives together; they moved into a little house together in a small wizarding village near Oxford, his twin and Katie living right next door. Hermione became a Healer, working at St Mungo's but was always happy to help the twins with their products.

On their fifth anniversary together, George proposed to Hermione in a field of wildflowers next to a small stream that he and Fred had loved to play in as children. Hermione had cried tears of joy and kissed him as he slipped a silver diamond ring on her finger.

"I love you," she'd told him between kisses, as she stripped him of his clothes. Among the flowers they'd slowly explored one another, making love both overcome by the feelings of love and happiness they felt together. Laying on his back in the bed of wildflowers, Hermione bouncing atop of him, the sun haloing her wild curls as her fluttering walls clench around him would remain one of George's fondest memories for the rest of his life.


Of course, in a world without a deadly war, where you never have serious worries or exponential crisis's, fond memories are frequent. When George eventually dies, passing beyond the veil, he's lived a long, wonderful life.

He and Hermione had married shortly after her twenty second birthday, they'd had five children together: Andrew, Matilda, Grace, Samuel, and Emily. They'd spent their day's together as a family; watching their children play as they read together by a glowing fire. They'd spend weekends at the Burrow; the house had been expanded many times over the years to accommodate all of the children that George and his siblings had had over the years. Seeing their children play together in the orchards around his childhood home in a world free of war always made George Happy. He'd sit with his siblings as well as the Potter's, Lupin's, Black's and surprisingly Malfoy's listening to the sounds of laughter, as the next generation played quidditch and hide and seek together.

Life was wat you made it and George Weasley ensured that his was one filled with love and joy. He and Hermione watched their children grow up; watched each of them leave on the Hogwarts Express their First Year and stood proud as they graduated after seven years spent at the school. They watched as each of them went out into the world, starting careers and eventually their own families. He and Hermione doted on their many Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren.

He and Fred passed their store onto their children, it was bigger now than when they had first opened it in Diagon Alley all those years ago. With hard work and dedication, they'd expanded Weasley's Wizard Wheezes across the globe. They trusted that the legacy of pranksters would continue and left their empire in the safe hands of the next generation of Weasley's.

One night many years after he had retired; George Weasley kissed his wife; even at the age of one hundred and twelve she was still beautiful. He climbed into bed, falling asleep with her in his arms. That night he passed beyond the Vail of Death with Fred at his side. He hadn't had a single flash of memories since the night of the Final Battle, his Sixth Sense had disappeared upon the death of Voldemort and he had been fortunate in the life that he had led, happy to be living in a world full of piece. As he crossed the Vail, he remembered everything, his memories coming back to him in an instant.

"George Fabian Weasley, The Master of Death, how was your life," The deep voice of Thanatos asked. George found himself remembering the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore all those years ago when he had been unable to answer the question of if he was a foolish man. Though his actions may have been foolish; becoming the Master of Death, steeling the Time Turner, George wouldn't have done anything differently.

"My life was perfect," he replied with a smile on his face, greeting Death as an old friend. With his twin at his side, he was prepared to tackle the next great adventure.