Author's Note:

I was contemplating naming this chapter, "Beckoning the Beacons," because every time I wrote 'beacons' my computer auto-corrected it to 'beckons.' When I went through it, you can imagine my confusion. I thought it was quite amusing. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. Please comment. I love to learn from you guys.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the characters, or the magical elements/world. That is all J.K Rowling.

Love and War
Chapter Two

Responsibility

George's fingernails dug into his scalp while two fingers pressed into his ears, blocking out the curses which bellowed from the floor above. It had been two hours, but the noise did not stop. George willed his mind away from the torture Hermione was experiencing, reminding himself to focus on being a stone, but it was no use. The racket was overpowering.

George struggled to keep calm as he shook with rage. Not long ago Hermione stirred against him, twitching in her sleep before waking. A small smile graced her lips when she looked up at him, but her amber orbs hinted to the hidden misery. They were both locked in this awful place. He could see tears forming in her eyes as she struggled to sit up and greet him with a warm hug.

The bruises and injuries were concerning, but, at that moment, Hermione was conscious and alert, and that would be good enough for now. George's arms were still wrapped around her form when the heavy footsteps started. He did not pay much mind to it at first, but when Hermione jumped slightly and pulled out of his embrace, he noticed the booming thuds growing closer.

"Crucio!" the voice howled over him. George would have given anything to switch with her, let her relax for as long as he could swing it, but he knew that would not happen. Not if he begged, not if he spoke, or continued to show pain. His gripped his hair tighter, almost pulling out a large chunk of the fiery red strands in an attempt to do what Hermione asked.

Keep your cool, Georgie, he thought, knowing the only way was to remain uncaring but another second of the violent vibration above him and he was going to snap.

"Listen to me," she had said hastily, her hand rested against his stubbly cheek, but his eyes darted off of her and to the cell door. The thunderous dragging got louder and panic set in. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, heavy and unbearable. They were going to take her; they were going to try and break her. "George," she had whispered more forcefully, giving his skin a little smack, "don't scream." She whipped her head around as the thump of thick boots sounded in the corridor. "They're coming for me and if you fight, they will make it worse on both of us."

He had only nodded weakly then. He could still feel her weight under his hands and he clung onto that echo of physicality for reassurance. She was right, he knew that much, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered, not how strong, or courageous, or smart she was. No one could handle what they were doing and come out of it mentally unscathed.

"Cruico," another voice joined the female death eater, who he assumed was Bellatrix, and a thundering quake cascaded across the ceiling. A soft hiss of protest had escaped his lips before he fiddled with the ring on his thumb.

Taking a steadying breath, he stared down at the thin silver band that rested on his thumb, praying to the jewellery for help. It was barely noticeable, almost invisible as it sat on the joint between his thumb and hand. George watched it, training his focus not to waver as he remembered his father's words.

Turning it into his flesh five times, he whispered his plea for help. It omitted a barely noticeable blue glow that suddenly zipped out the dungeon window and across the night sky. That was the third tracking beacon he sent since he arrived, knowing full well his family should have received the other ones by now, but he could not help send another.

He would not sit there and do nothing while the bravest women he knew in the wizarding world thrashed in pain against the mahogany hardwood of the Malfoy's sitting room. He may not have been able to show emotion, but he was able to send for help. They were going to get saved; George knew it. He could feel it in his bones, in the damp air that his lungs brought into his chest. He could taste freedom on the tip of his tongue, and when George got him and Hermione out because of the 'girly little thing' on his finger, he would curse Ron into next week for mocking the linked rings their father bought the Weasleys.

The shouting grew louder above, and George realised how powerless he was, even with his ring. The feeling of the torture curse was excruciating. Dirty, dull razors digging into soft flesh, burning open wounds with salt water, breaking every bone in the body; these were all painful, but were nowhere near as agonising as the torture curse. And even after that, Hermione had fight in her.

It baffled him. He wanted to respond, to assure her that he was here to protect her. They both would have known it was a lie. George wished he could have done more. Instead, he had just pressed a kiss to her forehead. The action surprised him. He was not even sure why he had done it; it just felt necessary. As if his strength could be her comfort.

The footsteps stopped and the cell door smashed against the concrete. Slumping back against the wall and moving his sweater behind his back to conceal it, George watched, emotionless, as their captor snarled behind his mask and grabbed Hermione by the hair.

"Come on Mudblood," the death eater's words rang in his mind vividly, reminding him of how Hermione was roughly dragged out the door, "they're expecting you."

George was about to burst. He was forced to sit idly by as they brought her to the brink of death on the floor above his head. He could do nothing but listen to the ceiling shudder violently as she shook against the floor. It was a torture in its own, and if George's stoic resistance wavered in the slightest, it would give the bastards exactly what they wanted. They would probably leave him unharmed, focusing solely on abusing her, because of how badly it affected him.

In a vain attempt, he forced his attention on what would be waiting at home. George envisioned it with detail. The burrow rebuilt and lit up at his favourite time of year. A light dusting of snow blanketing the surrounding yard, the smell of his mother's famous Christmas dinner cooking in the oven, the Christmas tree twinkling in the dusk. He even saw the faces of his family around the table, with Harry next to Ron, and Hermione next to him. Everyone was happy and carefree. For a few minutes, George was too, but it was suddenly ripped away.

What the bloody hell was that?

Even a patented Weasley Wizard Wheezes daydream charm could not keep his attention off the upstairs when that shout came barreling through his thoughts. This one was different than the others. It was deeper and filled with something George nearly roared against, but before he could, the thrashing settle above him. It was over. It had to be. The thuds of footsteps, the smashing of bone against steps, and scraping of flesh against concrete was a sign of that.

The gated metal door burst open and George attempted to hide his impatience.

The masked demon threw Hermione into the cell, mumbled a small healing spell, and slammed the door. George counted to ten, waiting for complete silence before crawling across the floor.

He pulled her to him, much like he did when he first arrived, and brushed a damp strand of her hair off her face as she quivered in the aftershock of the spell. Draping his sweater over her, he took note of all her new injuries, letting out an angry growl out as he saw the bloody rags that covered her upper body. The word 'Mudblood,' carved into the flesh, went up the side of her ribs and the letters soaked through the fabric.

"It's over," Hermione whispered, still dazed from the pain as she whimpered from another forceful wave. He rubbed his thumb gently across her cheek and moved her to lay against him. Her head rested against his chest, snuggling closer into his heat while he cradled her close.

Her body trembled uncontrollably and George's heart clenched, vividly remembering the pain. "It's over now, George, right?" The staggered words trailed off and Hermione slipped into unconsciousness.

They had to get out of here and he had to do it soon. Her life depended on it.

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