There was little about the flat or its leasee that drew much attention. The one bedroom apartment was kept neat, despite the amazing number of antiques filling its space. Noise never permeated the walls, and neighbors never had reason to complain. Bills were always paid on time if not, if the leasee would be out of town for long spans, several weeks early.

And while the leasee rarely spoke to or was rarely seen by his neighbors, he was ever polite on the rare occasion that he was encountered in the hallways.

So it was that if his front door had been open when the leasee suddenly appeared in his flat, as though dropped directly from the air, he might have attempted to cover the pain he felt. Instead, he instantly bent forward gasping and choking as though a grip on his throat had only just been released. Unsteady fingers tore at the white mask covering his face and the clasp at his throat, but even as they fell away, the coughing merely lessened, but did not subside.

With a shaking hand on the mahogany desk dating from Louis XII, the figure attempted to make his way into the kitchen for water, but stumbled, barely able to catch himself with a hand on the wall. He rested a moment there, with a whispered swear, but the coughing began again.

Two steps. Three steps.

Dots danced.

The floor twisted.

Again, the hand shot out toward the counter, but found nothing under the fingertips. The body fell forward toward his knees, but the force of the marble countertop, seeming to suddenly reappear out of nowhere, knocked his head backward, spilling him unconscious onto the cold, tiled floor.

A small trickle of blood crept out from under the pale blond hair, drawing a crimson line across his forehead.

Five hours after Chris had contacted them that George was freed, Fred sat on the floor in the hallway of St. Mungo's, his arms folded across his legs, his face buried in his arms. Hermione sat beside him, leaning back against the wall, rubbing gentle circles on his back in an attempt to give comfort where none could be found. Her eyes flickered up to Ron, who sat across the way. When he caught her gaze, she gave him a small smile, which he weakly returned.

Bill paced by, his face grim, his arms folded across his chest, waiting, like the rest of them, for news from the Healers. Fleur entreated him to sit, but he couldn't. He didn't like feeling helpless. He had to feel like he was doing something, even if it was nothing. As he walked by Ron, he placed a hand on his shoulder, then continued on as though it hadn't happened.

They had known it would be like this. Draco had said that George was injured, and they all expected to be sitting at St. Mungo's while they patched him back together, but somehow that knowledge hadn't prepared them for the intensity of the injuries, for the length of time they would be sitting in the hallway. They had been through this before with other Order members, with their own father years ago, waiting for word from Healers, hoping it was good news. But with George, it was hard to celebrate his freedom when it was unknown whether or not he would survive his injuries.

Harry sat a few feet away, his eyes focused on some spot in the middle of the floor. Chris sat beside him, just as silent as the Boy Who Lived, but his head was leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. He had said very little to the others after calling them to the hospital. There was little to say. The mission was a success. George was out. Did they need to know the conditions he had been kept in? Was it necessary to convey to them the horrific smells from the cells or how long it had been since George had seen light? Did they need to know how close he had come to death?

The door to George's room opened and an Assistant Healer stepped out. She seemed surprised at first at the faces gathered around, even staring longer than necessary at Fred, as though surprised to find a face identical to that of the patient, waiting in the hallway. She hesitated a moment, swallowed, then spoke.

"The healers should be out in a moment. Healer Parsons will be able to answer any questions you have." She hesitated a moment, then, as though speaking directly to Fred added, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Fred shook his head, then lowered it again to his arms. Bill walked down the corridor a few steps, speaking quietly with the AH, but she had nothing more to tell them. He returned and dropped heavily into the empty chair next to Fleur, who automatically wrapped her arms around him.

It was nearly an hour later before the door to George's room opened and a line of healers silently exited, their eyes trained either on the floor or straight ahead. Those who did look at the family gathered outside were kind enough to offer small smiles, but not enough to comfort.

At last, a tall elderly man with well-combed silver hair and a perfectly manicured beard stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. Blue-gray eyes regarded the gathered family for a moment, before he reached up and removed his glasses, taking a moment to clean them on his robes before replacing them on his nose.

"Are you his family?"

"Yes," Bill answered. "How's George?"

The healer smiled kindly. He was used to this brusque manner from those waiting to hear of their loved ones.

"George is resting now. His injuries were quite severe. We did what we could with potions and magic, but the number and severity of his injuries make it impossible to take care of everything at one time. We're allowing him to rest and regroup, and over the course of the next few days, we will continue to help him."

"So he's going to make it?" Ron piped up hopefully, grasping Hermione's hand in his own.

The old man was silent for a moment, considering Ron's question. "Any physical injuries he has sustained which could be deemed life threatening have been or are being treated." He trailed off, seeing clearly the face identical to his patient. "I won't lie to you. Your brother is in very bad shape. If he had remained in that condition a week, even a few days longer, I'm afraid the news would be very different. As it is, yes, he should survive; however, in cases as bad as his, it is often up to the patient whether or not he will live."

"How bad?" Fred managed to croak.

The healer suddenly looked much older now. He was silent for a long time, but when the family began to feel he might not answer, he spoke up.

"Mr. Weasley has suffered from severe dehydration and malnutrition. These we are treating with various nourishing potions. He was also brought to us with several broken bones. Those have been set, but because his body is so weak, they will not be healed until George has had some time to recover from tonight. There will be some long-term effects on his body, but as to the severity of those, it is hard to say at this moment." There was a pregnant pause before the Healer added, "I know your family has always been near the frontlines of this war," he said, glancing briefly at Harry and Chris. "And I am sure I do not have to explain in too much detail the affects of torture on the body and mind. From all evidence, the patient has suffered for some time."

"Nearly ten months," Fred whispered.

Healer Parsons nodded.

"Ten months," he answered back softly, "is a long time to suffer as he has. It will be some time before he recovers, if he does at all. I am afraid I can't let you see him tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps," he added hastily, seeing the looks on the family's faces. "That said, I suggest you all go home and get some rest tonight. There's nothing more that can be done here." He laid a paternal hand on Fred's shoulder. "You'll need your strength when he wakes. He'll need your strength." With a final squeeze of the shoulder, the Healer headed down the corridor, away from George's room and the small gathering.

"I'm staying." Nobody looked surprised that Fred would stay. Instead, they nodded, knowing he would not rest back at the Headquarters anyway.

"I'll stay with you," Ron offered, but Fred shook his head.

"No. You have to teach tomorrow, Ron. And I'm sure you guys have reports to file," he said, looking toward the two aurors. "I'll keep an eye on George."

"You're sure, Fred? We could all stay."

"I'm sure. I'll contact you if anything happens." There was a little more protest that the others wanted to stay as well, but it didn't take long for Fred to talk them into going. George was their brother too, and they had every right to stay as well, but Fred didn't want them there. A large group was too noticeable. As soon as the last of the loiterers were gone, Fred leaned against the wall, glancing surreptitiously down both ends. Sure nobody was paying even the slightest attention, he turned the knob to George's room and slid inside.

He found himself standing in the dark several feet from the curtains that hid his twin from view of the corridor. He lit his wand, took a few deep breaths to steady himself, prepare himself for what he was about to see, and strode forward, slipping clandestinely through an opening, as though afraid of waking George.

Those deep breaths were not enough to prepare him.

Fred approached the bed holding his wand aloft and looked down into the battered face of his twin, looking over the barely mended cuts and scrapes, taking note of the pale pallor and the bones jutting out from under his too thin skin. His body was covered with a white sheet and pale blue blanket, covering everything but up to his shoulders, leaving his thin bruised left arm to lay limply in view, while his right was hidden by a sling, revealing only his bony fingers. No injury escaped his notice and was forever etched into his mind.

In silence, he watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. Gently, he reached out, taking George's left hand as he had done so many times when bets had been made or deals struck, for this was one such moment.

"I'm sorry, George," he whispered, not for fear of disturbing the patient, but for the blockage in his throat, a lump making it difficult to swallow or speak. "I'm sorry." His voice shook, but he continued, needing to say the words that had been in his mind since he had fallen to his knees before their burning shop. "I- I'm sorry I asked you to close up. I should have done it myself, but-." He took a deep breath, wiping furiously at the tears rolling down his freckled cheeks. "You could have died, and it would have been my fault. I thought you-. All this time, I thought-." It seemed impossible to vocalize what he had been feeling all this time. "I swear, George- I swear I'll protect you from now on. Jus- Just-." The trembling of his jaw, the rawness in his throat made his next words difficult.

"You have to wake up George. You have to be okay. I'll never make it without you. You're the logical one. You have to keep me out of trouble." His voice caught again. Furious at his own weakness, he buried his face in his hands, trying to control himself. Finally, with a deep calming breath, he looked up again. "You're my best friend, and you're my brother. You can't leave me without saying goodbye. Not again. Do you hear me? YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO…." He stopped, his eyes wide, realizing for the first time what he was about to say. Fred closed his eyes, as though not wanting to see his bother as he looked now for what he was about to say. "The healers said it's all up to you, George. You can't die on me. Not on any of us. We've lost too many Weasleys already. You are not allowed to die."

Severus Snape knocked at the door of Draco's flat, steadfastly ignoring the Muggle who lived across the hallway as the old man stared at him while locking his own door. There was nothing out of place about Snape. He was dressed exactly as he should be to blend in with the entirely non-magical building, but he knew Draco rarely, if ever, had visitors at this address, and when he did, they were closer to his age than was Snape.

No answer came, which worried Snape. Draco had not seemed himself when he had seen him after the raid on Domus Devreor. He had been pale and drawn even before the Dark Lord made his feelings known on the whole botched affair, and by the end of the meeting, the boy was downright unsteady on his feet, misstepping just slightly as he disapparated after their dismissal without so much as a glance at anyone else. Snape had been worried the boy would splinch himself, but luckily, no body parts had been left behind, but the boy's apparition barrier was not keyed to allow anyone but Draco enter in that way, so it had been impossible to follow directly after him. It had only been an hour since the boy had disappeared so suddenly, but he was not answering the door. He was not foolish enough to go to Headquarters so directly after a meeting, and yet he was not answering his door.

"Have you seen the boy who lives here?" he suddenly asked the old man, causing the man to drop his keys.

"Mr. Malfoy? I haven't seen him in maybe a week." Snape turned away from him, but the man continued talking, possibly emboldened by Snape's willingness to converse. "But then, I don't usually see him much. We have different schedules, you see? Sometimes in the hallway, but he's usually leaving when I come home. I work late down at the office. Good kid, though. Very quiet."

"Thank you," Snape said, cutting off the man's words. He slipped his wand just far enough from his jacket to point it at the lock while his other hand covered the door knob.

"How'd you do that?" the man asked as Snape opened the door.

"Spare key," he answered curtly, stepping into the apartment. "Draco?" The sound of his call floated out to the old man just as the door closed.

The foyer was orderly and neat, just as Snape expected from his young godson. Draco had always been just as immaculate in his space as he was in his dress, which was why it was rather worrisome to find his cloak and mask simply dropped in the living room. Something had happened.

Drawing his wand, Snape, pressed his back against the wall and listened acutely for any sign of an intruder. Wary of drawing attention to his own presence, he slid to his right, intent on checking the flat from the front to the back. The living room and foyer were obviously clear. The next open room was the kitchen, then Draco's bedroom. Hearing nothing to indicate anyone was in that room, he glanced around the corner and found a foot encased by a very expensive shoe. Draco.

Slipping around the corner, he knelt swiftly beside the boy and felt for a pulse, still listening carefully for the sounds of anyone else in the flat. Finding what he was searching for in the heartbeat of the young man, Severus rose and continued deeper into the flat, opening doors to the bedroom, bathroom, and pantry. Finding nobody, he returned to Draco.

It was after midnight when the hallway again began to fill. Ron was the first to appear. He had gone back to the school with Hermione, but as soon as she had gone home, he had gone to speak with McGonagall then come straight back. He wasn't surprised to see that Fred was nowhere to be seen, though the notion that he was gone home never touched his brain. He knew his brother had slipped into the room as soon as the hall was clear. Nor was he surprised when Bill reappeared half an hour later, looking tired but carrying two paper cups of coffee.

"Fleur finally fell asleep," was all he said as he sat down.

"You weren't planning on telling me you were coming back?"

"You found your way here, didn't you?" Bill handed him a cup and sipped his own. "I figured you'd be here. Did Fred slip inside?"

"I think so."

"Ginny here yet?"

"No. I think Harry was going to find her."

Bill nodded with a sad smile, and they fell into silence. There wasn't much to be said tonight. Their minds were shared between their family on the other side of that door and those they had already lost. Three Weasleys had been lost in this war, both their parents and Charlie, and neither Bill nor Ron wanted to lose another.

When Harry and Chris arrived back, it was to two men alone in their thoughts. They simply sat beside them in silence for several minutes before Bill spoke up.

"Did you find Ginny, Harry?"

"No." He was exhausted, having spent the entire day participating in the raid, sitting here waiting to hear about George, and searching for Ginny to bring her back. "I left a message at her flat. Did Fred sneak in?"

"Think so," Ron answered.

The four men leaned back and fell once again into silence. When Hermione appeared near two, none seemed surprised to see her, nor did she appear surprised to see them sitting outside George's door when they all had said they were going home, and had even walked out with her. Harry moved to the other side of Chris so she could sit next to Ron where she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

They waited.

Snape leaned against the bureau in Draco's bedroom, pinching the bridge of his nose as an irate Narcissa Malfoy continued to rage against Draco's choice to move into this hovel and Snape's refusal to move him back to the manor.

"Narcissa, Draco was not attacked," he repeated calmly as she paused for breath. "He's simply exhausted and ill. What he needs is to rest. Moving him at this point is not a healthy option for him."

"He's a pureblood! We do not fall ill as easily -."

"But he is still human," he said, cutting her off gently. "Draco has merely been over-worked and has not been taking care of himself."

"Which is why he should be moved back home!"

"I am sure he would disagree with you if he could."

"How dare you!"

"Narcissa, I will stay here and take care of him, if it will set your mind at ease. However, keep in mind that this tirade is not helping him rest. I must insist you keep your voice down."

"He is my son, Severus Snape. Don't forget that."

"I haven't forgotten. However, I am under obligation to see him protected, as I am sure you haven't forgotten." She narrowed her eyes at him, but he ignored it. "I assure you, he will be up and around in a few days. Now, I suggest you inform your husband what has happened. There are others who will be waiting for him, and they are not the type to be kept waiting."

This reminder caused Narcissa Malfoy to pale, if such a thing were possible with her coloring.

"Of course. Thank you, Severus. I forgot myself for a moment."

"He's your son, Narcissa. I understand."

Calmed, she reached down and touched her son's cheek with her hand, then made her way out of the room without so much as a glance at the man who would be taking care of her son. The crack of her apparition told Snape that she was gone.

"I swear, Draco," he murmered, looking toward the bed where the young man was laid out with his blanket pulled clear up to his chin. "You will be the death of me."

Fred had fallen asleep where he was, his arms folded on the edge of the bed, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. He had sat next to his brother's still body for what felt like hours, awaiting some movement, some sign that George was wakening, but none came.

It was, then, a great surprise when the mattress under his arms began to move, and Fred's head shot up, all evidence of exhaustion fleeing his eyes in the hopes that George was finally awake. Horror, instead, filled his visage.

George lay rigid on the bed, his fists clenched in his blankets, face twisted with a pained grimace. Every muscle in his body appeared to be tensed, but most frightening, he didn't appear to be breathing. Instinctively, Fred grabbed his shoulders, trying to shake him awake.

"George? Wake up, mate! Wake up!" Desperate, Fred ran to the door and screamed out for someone to help him, but in the seconds it took him to yell for help and return, his brother's face was turning blue from lack of oxygen, and his fists began to shake, still clutching the blanket. "Breathe, damn it! George, you have to breathe!" Even when someone grabbed him from behind and attempted to drag him from the bed so the healers could examine George, Fred kept his eyes trained on his brother's face until he was forced out the door into the hallway.

"Fred, what's going on?"

He thought it was Ron who asked, though it could have been Bill's voice if he had just wakened. He didn't know because he couldn't bring himself to look as he slid his back down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, once again burying his face in his arms.