Two weeks later:

A cloaked figure ran down the corridors of Domus Divereor, deftly avoiding the other Death Eaters who rushed in the opposite direction. His grey eyes focused forward, not even wasting time to glimpse through the doors of so many open cells. He knew what they would see, and there was no time to waste. Reaching number 73, he unlocked the door and slid inside, closing the door behind him.

Hypersensitive to all the sounds coming from the corridor, Draco Malfoy crept to where Weasley was hanging. His head hung limply forward; his body was absolutely still. Draco examined the man closely, looking especially at the wound on his left thigh. It wasn't deep, but it had festered in the few days since Draco had last been in here. There was, no doubt, a serious infection there. That on top of the other injuries he had sustained during his stay in Domus Divereor would make this escape difficult. Most likely, George would not be able to stand on it without help, let alone run. Draco reached up and rested the palm of his hand against the prisoner's forehead, then tore it away quickly. He was burning up.

"Weasley! Weasley!" he hissed, trying hard not to alert anyone who might still be nearby. "George!"

George's head jerked up and turned in the direction of Draco's voice. With his eyes open, he looked even worse than the last time Draco had seen him. The capillaries in his right eye had burst, covering the glassy white surface in a film of blood. His face was swollen.

"Wh-who's th-there?"

The stuttering had been present since Draco had first found him, but it seemed to have worsened in the last month. He winced internally at the sound of it, knowing exactly how the condition had developed.

Damn the Ministry for taking so long to approve this raid.

"Hold still." Draco reached up and released George's wrists, causing him to fall to his feet, his knees crumpling under him and spilling him against Draco, who caught him and lowered him to the cell floor so he was leaning against a wall. Draco knelt beside him and produced several vials from his robes, more gifts from Snape, and pressed them into Weasley's hand. "You have to drink this. It'll numb the pain."

"I c-can't- m-move."

The Death Eater took the vial back, removed the stopper and pushed it to George's lips, but his eyes had fluttered shut.

"Weasley!" The eyes flew open again. "This little fireworks display was put on for your benefit. Let's not sleep through it. Now drink!" He tipped the end of the vial up, emptying the contents into his mouth and down his chin. Draco placed the empty vial back into his pocket and opened another.

"W-w-w-what's h-h-h-?" George tried to ask weakly. The sound of battle had become apparent even to his ears.

"Ministry raid," Draco answered shortly. "This is your rescue, but we need to move you. The Death Eaters have started killing the prisoners. This one," he said, indicating another vial, "will give you strength enough to get away." He fed the second vial to him and waited several seconds for it to take affect. Then, he gripped George under his arms and lifted him to his feet where he swayed unsteadily. He probably needed some time to get his bearings again, but another explosion shook the foundations of the fortress. They had to get moving.

"I c-c-c-can't f-f-feel my arms."

"It's okay. Your blood just needs to circulate." He opened his cloak and pulled black Death Eater robes from beneath it. "These will make you blend in," he said, wrapping them around the numb prisoner and fastening them in the front. "I'm going to move you to a safer spot, but you have to act like an injured Death Eater. Do not say anything."

"Wh-what ab-bout-?"

"Spit it out, Weasley."

"Oth-th-ther p-pr-?"

"It's too late for the others, Draco answered solemnly. "Most of the other prisoners are already dead."

The body beside him slumped, causing Draco to stumble a little under the added weight.

"Weasley, now is not the time for your depression," he hissed. "We need to move!"

Legs began to move, and though they could not completely support the weight, George was soon out of the cell for the first time in- he'd have to ask how long he'd been there. Time moves differently when there are no windows, and visitors come at all times.

"Malfoy!" Draco stiffened, then turned, peering over his shoulder as he surreptitiously slid his wand out from under his cloak with his left hand. His right arm tightened around George's waist.

"What is it, Stenson?"

Another cloaked figure jogged up to him, the side of his face swollen and bleeding as his eyes darted interestedly over Draco and the injured Death Eater he carried.

"The wards have fallen! Aurors are all over the place!"

"I'm aware of the situation," Draco countered with a smoothness that would have made Snape proud. "We're heading to the apparition point now."

"Who-?" Stenson reached forward to peer under George's hood and gasped, obviously recognizing the prisoner, but Draco reacted quickly.

"Avada Kedavra." Stenson slumped to the ground. With a quick glance up and down the corridor to be sure there had been no witnesses, Draco levitated him into George's empty cell and locked the door. At least if someone checked, there would be a body to be counted. Weasley said nothing as they continued again, more slowly than Draco had planned. Even with the revitalizing potion, Weasley was stumbling, the tremors of his body apparent to Draco even through their cloaks.

Shouts were heard farther down the corridor. The sounds of the battle were getting nearer.

At this rate, the battle would soon be upon them.

It was enough that George had been removed from his cell before the retreating Death Eaters could kill him. If the Aurors had made it this far into the fortress, then the day had been lost for the Death Eaters. Defeat was at hand, and Weasley was safe, albeit, only semiconscious from the sudden extra weight on his shoulder.

A whimper Draco recognized all too well escaped the lips of the man hanging off his shoulder.

"Come on, Weasley," he murmured, pulling him along the corridor. "I need you to keep it together. Just a little while longer."

At the end of the cell block, Draco pushed open the last door. It was a guards' room, completely abandoned in the attack. He eased Weasley down against the wall, then squatted to check him one last time before leaving him behind. Hazel eyes peered at him through half-lids.

"I have to escape with the others. Don't worry. Potter will look for you. He'll find you. Weasley!" George's eyes had begun to drift shut again. Hazel eyes shot open again. "Keep your eyes open! You have to stay awake until they find you.

"The Aurors are nearby, so you're going to be okay. Potter's with them. He'll find you here," he repeated, glancing toward the door at the sound of feet running past and praying he was not too late to save himself. "Just don't get yourself killed before they find you. Got it?"

"Th-thanks, Dr-aco."

"Yeah," he answered, turning toward the door and peering out. Aurors were just making their way into the corridor. Readying his wand for a fight, Draco spared one last glance at the life he had managed to save, then dashed for his own freedom, firing stunners over his shoulder as he did so.

From inside the room, George could distantly hear shouts and the sound of spells ricocheting off walls. Feet echoed as they ran past the room where he sat, too weak to even crawl to the door. All he could do was wait. Once the prison was secured, they would check it room by room. He just had to wait.

"I can only make out a few of these words," Hermione announced, setting her quill on the table and tiredly rubbing her eyes.

"Whoever wrote this had an amazing control of ancient languages," Bill said, leaning across the wood table to look at what she had decoded. "Between you, me, and Snape, we have all the major ones covered, but I don't recognize any of this section. I can't even tell you what it is, let alone translate it." His eyes traveled down the paper, stopping halfway down. "These symbols look Hebrew, but I don't recognize the word."

"It's Aramaic, and unfortunately, I don't know more than a few words."

"How do you know?"

"I recognize this," she said, pointing at a small word. "It's pronounced 'sabakh.'" She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "And it's a good guess, at best- just something I remembered seeing once: 'Eloi, Eloi, lama sabakh'thani?' Translated, it means, 'God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' It's Christ's last words on the cross."

"Oh." Bill leaned back as well, suddenly hit by a chill. He couldn't explain it. He hadn't been raised with any kind of religious background, though he knew it was not unheard of in the magical world, but something about this was freaking him out.

The kitchen door squeaked open. Ron stalked in and dropped himself into the chair beside Hermione and sighed.

"The prison is being raided as we speak," he announced softly, eyeing Fred as his brother silently made his way to the sink and filled a glass of water. They had been worried about the twin since George's death, but since learning he was still alive, new life seemed to return to Fred as well. At least, until the raid had begun. Now, he was simply going through the motions. And since returning to the Headquarters from Hogwarts, Ron had been uncharacteristically quiet. Hermione honestly didn't know if the family could survive losing another family member. They certainly weren't taking well to not being part of the raid, or rescue party, as they thought of it, but Harry and Kingsley both assured them that it was impossible. The Order was not large enough to take on a large fortress on its own, and if they were to use Aurors, as they needed to, it had to be a Ministry affair. That didn't persuade Ron and Fred very easily, and an argument had broken out just before the Aurors left to join up with their men. Since then, Fred and Ron had been moping.

"Have you reached Ginny?" Hermione asked, touching Ron lightly on the shoulder.

"I talked to her this morning." He sighed again, running a hand through his long red hair. "She wanted to come back, but I told her to stay. Her meeting with the Romanian ambassador is too important. She'll come back as soon as it's over."

Fred moved toward the table, sitting beside Bill, but said nothing, just stared at the glass of water he sat on the table, watching as the drops of condensation rolled down the side, gathering more drops as they fell to form a small puddle at the base. In an attempt to steer the men in the room from morose thoughts and worry for their brother, Hermione turned back to Bill, who had also fallen silent.

"I think I might know someone who can help us with this," she said. "I work with her in the DoM, and she has excellent knowledge of ancient languages."

"Can she be trusted?"

"I think so. She's Chris's sister."

"Alden?" Hermione nodded. "We'll talk to him first," Bill continued. "There might be a reason his sister isn't already a part of the Order. Then we'll run it by Harry and McGonagall."

Hermione nodded again, turning back toward the scroll. After several seconds of silence, Ron surprised her by taking her hand in his under the table and squeezing it, as though needing reassurance from her.

"I wish I knew what was going on right now," he whispered.

Aurors Potter and Shacklebolt made their way into the lower cell block where Draco had reported George was being held. Clumps of Aurors were working their way through the cells, but all their faces were grim. Shacklebolt, the acting Head of the Auror Division approached the closest of those searching the cells.

"Were any of them alive?" Shacklebolt asked Bremmer, a stout veteran who had given Harry a hard time early on, but now, well, at least he didn't treat him like a child anymore.

"Prisoners? We found six, all down at that end. Looks like the Death Eaters made their way through most of the cells before we got them." He spat heavily on the ground. "Sixty-three prisoners, and only six survived. Nasty business."

"Where are they?" Kingsley asked.

"Already moved them to Mungo's. They were all in bad shape. I wouldn't be surprised if a few more died just from their injuries." He removed a piece of parchment and handed it over, yelling at another young Auror and stalking away as soon as the paper was out of his hand. Shacklebolt glanced down at the list and handed it over to Harry.

"He's not on there," he said gravely before Harry even had a chance to look over it.

George was not among the survivors.

The parchment clenched in his hand, Harry began walking toward George's cell. He had to be sure before he could tell his best friend-. He just had to be absolutely sure. His feet carried him past open doors where bodies were being identified and covered until he came to cell 73. A team of Aurors was already inside. Harry could hear them from where he stopped just outside the door. Did he really want to do this? Did he want to see?

"Potter!"

Although the attack had been staged by the Aurors, a team of Unspeakables had the task of search the premises. Harry and the other Aurors were resigned to basically guard duty. He nodded to Chris Alden, another Auror who served the Order, who had the task of searching the fallen Death Eaters to figure out which were stupefied and which were truly dead. Privately, he was also keeping an eye out in case Draco had been left behind. Chris's pale blue eyes were completely devoid of emotion. Harry recognized the look instantly. Shacklebolt had told him. He and the twins had become very good friends since leaving Hogwarts, and he had not reacted well when George had been reported dead.

"This was George's cell," Harry said solemnly as they came up beside him.

A door slammed and all three looked up as another Death Eater was bodily carried from a room farther down the corridor. From the looks of it, he had not come out of the battle unscathed. When he and the two Aurors carrying him disappeared from view, Chris spoke.

"Stay here. I'll check." He disappeared into the room, and a moment later, the two Aurors who had been working in the room appeared and moved on. Harry heard the movement of feet inside, the rustle of cloth being removed.

"Harry?" A pregnant pause. "Get in here."

Steeling himself, Harry walked into the cell, noticing that Chris's position hid the face from his position, and for that, Harry was grateful.

"Your informant said George was being held in cell 73, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're positive? Cell 73?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Chris stood up, revealing the face of the corpse.

"Because this is most definitely not George Weasley."

The body was a tall, thin boy of barely eighteen. Brown hair was matted down on his blood-covered face, but Chris was right. This was not George.

"Check the other cells," Shacklebolt told them. "Do it quietly. Find out if he's down here."

In half an hour, they had quickly checked each cell. The fifty-seven bodies they checked were all male, all between the ages of eighteen and forty, and all carrying the signs of torture and malnourishment, but none of them were even the right build for George, even taking into account the months he had been captive.

"Someone missing?" Bremmer asked, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "I'd check up in the pens." He referred to the area of the Great Room where a handful of captured Death Eaters were being held. "I'm sure they could tell you if this supposed prisoner is dead or not."

Harry nodded and followed Shacklebolt, who had apparently thought of that before Bremmer had mentioned it and was already moving toward the stairs. Chris followed, though none of them spoke. The stairs twisted around and around, quite serpent-like and emitted them into the Hall.

The Great Room was at the rear of the Hall, where, in happier times of balls and parties, guests might have dined before dancing. Now, the light of the high windows barely filled the room, as though straining against the darkness of the crimes that had taken place here. Shadows thrived in the corners, avoiding the invasion of light. Several top Aurors were giving orders and collecting information, and near the back, the prisoners were held within full sight and guard of their captors.

In the low light of the shade, he could make out six figures. Four knelt on the ground with, from all appearances, their arms pinioned behind their backs. The one on the left must have been injured or exhausted, because instead of holding his head up haughtily as was custom when Death Eaters were caught, this prisoner's chin was nearly to his chest, and his upper body swayed unsteadily.

The other two figures stood guard over the Death Eaters, their wands drawn and trained steadily.

"Anyone we know?" Shacklebolt asked another senior-Auror. Harry eyed the prisoners being guarded by two fully trained Aurors. Must have been someone dangerous or well-known. Draco, perhaps?

"Not particularly." The man glanced over his shoulder at the prisoners. "The two on the right are young and stupid. They froze up when they saw us coming. Neither of them are older than nineteen or twenty."

"And the other one?"

"Found him in a guard room in the dungeons. Didn't put up a fight. Older, maybe mid to late twenties, but we haven't identified him yet. His speech isn't real clear. Studders real bad. Keeps talking about finding hair."

"Hair?" Shacklebolt glanced at Harry, then began walking toward the prisoner without a word. Harry fell into step beside him.

"What's up?" Harry asked, recognizing the focused look in Kingsley's eyes. He glanced back at Chris, and found he was watching them carefully.

"Think about it, Potter," the Senior Auror said, his eyes trained forward. "A Death Eater is left behind, doesn't put up any kind of fight, needing to find Hair?" He glanced at the young Auror. "Harry?"

"You think he's looking for me?"

"I do."

As Harry and Shacklebolt drew nearer, Harry focused on the prisoner. Was it Malfoy? He saw that the kneeling figure wore black robes, the hood had been pulled back, his mask removed, but his features were difficult to make out in the darkness of the room. The hair was too dark to be Malfoy, unless he had bathed in dirt before the raid. The prisoner slumped farther forward, nearly falling over had one of his guards not grabbed a handful of his robes, pulling him upright. The other trained his wand on him.

The prisoner's head came up, then lolled to the side.

Harry broke into a run as Shacklebolt shouted for the guard to put away his wand. The two men looked startled to find Potter sprinting toward them and Shacklebolt yelling at them to put away their only weapons. So startled, indeed, that the Auror who had been holding the prisoner upright, let go. The prisoner swayed, then fell forward.

Harry caught him by the shoulders.

"George!" he cried, lowering himself to George's level, attempting to rouse him, but the Weasley twin slumped forward. "Free his hands!" Shacklebolt was beside him now, guiding George to the ground now that the binds had been removed from his wrists. "George! George, wake up!" Harry told him, tapping his cheeks. George's eyes fluttered open.

"Har- Har-ry?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"W-wan- go home." He fell unconscious.

"Get him to St. Mungo's, now!" Shacklebolt ordered. "Potter, go with him. Alden!"

Chris was only a few steps behind, having hurried over as soon as he heard Harry yelling. They gripped George under the arms and began carrying him toward the apparition barrier.