Author's Note: I am so sorry it took so freaking long to get this up. And I am even more sorry that it is a vital fred chapter. I know it was JUST getting interesting with George and Hermione, but I needed to bring it back to Fred. Anyway. I will try and get the next chapter up faster next time!

Disclaimer: Rowling owns all.

Love and War Chapter 10
House Arrest

Pacing; the act of walking back and forth within a restricted area or route, usually done within a state of nervous anxiety or deep thought. It was a foreign occurrence to the, usual carefree, demeanor of either one of Weasley twins'. The cool and collected pair would never be caught in such a panicked state, especially one that led to such a prolonged period of worried marching. And yet, pacing, an idea so alien, was now a constant for Fredrick Gideon Weasley, one half of the famous troublemaking duo.

A long adventurous trek lay out before the feet of Fred's brother, along with those of the other captive, and, although the twins' were separated by a great distance, George Weasley's worry was mirrored in Fred. Thus the pacing. The nonstop movement took Fred's focus off his brother and his current state of semi freedom. Pacing kept Fred alert, ready and willing to assist the next Order member which walked through the heavy dark oak doors of the safe house. It was the only action that kept his mind focused on something other than the magnitude of questions spilling up and over the top of his mind. It numbed the cold moments of agonizing silence; the ones that seemed to draw out longer within the sector Molly Weasley insisted Fred manage: the infirmary ward.

As it turns out, despite the momentously happy news of George's escape, Fred was still under the watchful eye of the Order, and his mother. A more relaxed form of house arrest if you will. The Order heads said they needed him stationed at the healer's ward because of the 'extensive knowledge in wizard medicine' Fred supposedly possessed, but everyone knew that was a load of rubbish. The real reason, though unspoken, was as clear as liquid luck: Molly Weasley feared Fred's capture in attempting to assist George on his hike through the forest outside Malfoy Manor.

He would be lying if he said the option had not cross his mind, but the instant it did, Fred reprimanded himself for it. The chances of helping George were slim, and there was an even greater chance that Fred's sudden apparation onto the Malfoy grounds would get both, George and the other refugee, captured along with Fred. But that logical hesitation only proved his point further. Thoughts, especially ones that had not led to action, are no reason to station Fredrick Weasley, mediocre wizarding healer, to the infirmary where he would have to deal with multiple patients, daily. The very concept, much like pacing, was illogical.

The past few days however were exactly what Fred needed. Though he would never admit it aloud, he was actually quite glad to be stationed to this ward. After all, chaos is the ideal environment for a prospering Weasley twin, and the infirmary was nothing but chaotic. The turnover was high, the emotions were frantic and the movements needed were definitely not Crabbe and Goyle slow.

The place had become a revolving door as Wizards and witches of the Order rushed in and out, but the mass amount of patients did not deter Fred in the least. His skills with wizard medicine were lacking at first but in just a day he managed to overcome that technicality. A magnitude of spells and potions were added to his healing arsenal, a lot of which could assist in fixing work-in-progress prank accidents, and for that he was actually thankful.

The knowledge he acquired was very useful, but he was no Hermione. Knowledge, however valuable, was not what mattered most to Fred. The hectic 'keep-on-your-toes' environment took all of Fred's attention, distracting him from everything except the task at hand. He was allowed push his grief to the recesses of his mind as he brewed a potion or healed a laceration. Changing bandages, performing spells, and administering medications properly were tasks that had to be done precisely, tasks that required no waver in action. So, Fred's mind was constantly trained on something other than the wellbeing of the Order members who were missing in action. On Something other than the wounds he feared George would arrive with.

Then why was Fred pacing? Well, in between the pandemonium of the infirmary ward, during those few draughts of silence, was when it all hit him. The tragic results of the war so far. The potential loss of his twin brother; his other half. The daily deaths of wizards and witches whom he had grown close to. The curses which remained scarred on the flesh of his fellow fighters and the families which were demolished within the destruction. These memories were all burned into his brain, and though the silence was relaxing to most, it was torture for Fred.

The curse of the infirmary is what he had named it. The moments in which the guilt ate at him for not fighting, or for even thinking a moment without another injury was a curse. He was relieved not to see another Order member caught on the wrong side of a Death Eater's wand, but Fred could not shake the sounds of a war drum beating within his ears. He heard the seconds ticking by rhythmically; the low heavy beat of the second hand, the rapid breaths of the recovering patients, and the pitter patter of hurried footsteps on the floors below. It was a countdown to whether he would see if the other half of him survived through the torment of the Malfoy family.

It was to the beat of the countdown that Fred paced. Ticking off the supplies he had left and muttering out the names of useful healing potions to brew. The black chalkboard listed all the ingredients he had left in one column, and all the ones he needed in the other. He studied it, along with the medical books on the bookshelves lining the infirmary walls. He did anything, and everything to avoid the looming question: will George make it?

"Fred?" The unmistakable voice of Ginny Weasley echoed through the surprisingly empty room. Fred froze at the sound of her voice, his foot hovering mid pace. "Fred." She tried again which only shook him into action. Frantically he began prepping supplies for a potion he had plenty of, not bothering to meet his younger sister's eyes as his hands raced over the desk. "Fred, stop." She said louder, her voice booming with power, but Fred's movements just grew more rapid.

He squeezed the juice of a mistletoe berry and added a pinch of unicorn horn to the cauldron. As the steam started to rise from the bubbling liquid, the familiar sting of sadness clung behind his eyes. Pushing it aside he forced more of his attention on the poison cure, but questions still poured into his mind. How far away is George? Who is the other captive? Are his injuries extensive? Does he have enough supplies to carry both himself and the other captive through the treacherous trek?

Supplies. Merlin, what if George does not have the correct potions to cure a poisoning. Fred's eyes widen at the thought and immediately he took a bottle of already finished cure, grabbing some parchment and a small box. As he frantically searched for a quill, he felt the hand gripping his forearm. Glancing back he froze, finally taking notice of Ginny and the concern wide in her eyes. His shoulders shuddered instantly as silent tears broke free and dripped down his cheeks, but he hurriedly wiped them away.

"Sorry Gin," his voice regained as he sucked in a deep breath. "This whole healing business must be getting to me."

"Don't you know you can't lie to me?" she asked with a smirk before depositing the clean sheets she had tucked under her other arm on the empty cot. "I could sense your worry from down in the kitchen."

"That bad huh?" A chuckle escaped him as he slumped into the arm chair, absently thinking of the day him and his twin discovered Ginny's ability to sense emotions. The image of a six year old Ginny appeared in his mind, telling them she could feel everything. They thought she was joking at first but after reading some old books they found in the attic and doing some experiments with Ginny and an unsuspecting Ron, Ginny was revealed to be an empath. Something that could be very valuable to the dark lord, something that was to be remained hidden between the three siblings.

"He won't stop being connected to you Fred." Her words are precise, and exact. The same fear that he refused to admit to himself finally spoken aloud. This experience George went through, it must have changed him. When he comes back, if he comes back, George will certainly be a different person. The affects of his torture and his capture will not just leave him unscathed. And Fred feared how different they would be now; a missing ear is one thing, but being captured for so long is something else entirely.

"I guess I can't get anything past you," His hand absently stirred the cauldron avoiding the heavy weighted topic.

"Fred," Her tone, all soft and sympathetic, unleashed a white hot anger which Fred had no idea he possessed. Sure Ginny could feel what he felt, but that does not mean she understood it.

"No Gin," Fred bellowed as he slammed his fist down on the table. The brewing potion rippling from the cascading force. "He's changed. I can feel that from being this far away from him. He's gone through something absolutely horrible, how on earth am I on the same level as him now?"

"Because Fred," she continued, her voice never wavering in sympathy, but this time Fred felt the anger begin to melt away. "Acknowledging that, knowing you don't understand what he went through," Ginny paused as she let out a sigh, "it shows you too are experiencing something he doesn't understand. Being unsure about how to feel, just like him. That, and the fact that you're already so connected, will just strengthen your bond with him." A skeptically raised eyebrow was her response, and with another sigh she stood from her chair. "Just trust me ok Fred? I know what I am talking about."

Fred's words were caught in his throat. He wanted to tell his sister he did trust her, and that she was probably right like she always was, but the large oak doors burst open at that moment. His mouth was hanging open, but promptly shut it as Sirius Black limped through the ward and deposited himself on one of the beds.

"Am I going to get any service," he said with a pained chuckle, lifting his injured leg onto the undressed cot.

"Yeah yeah," Fred smiled at Ginny as she walked out of the infirmary, leaving him to care for the sarcastic marauder. He poured the finished poison cure into a vile, before walking over to his patient. "I'm coming, hold onto your hair will yah."

"Oh Doc," Sirius feigned a distressed sigh. "Am I gonna' make it? Or will they have to chop my leg off."

"I'll chop it off anyway if you don't stop moving." Fred laughed lightly, whispering the healing spell needed to clean, mend and dress the wound. "Drink this."

In one gulp the potion was down Sirius's throat. A satisfied 'ah' lingered in the air, and Fred laughed louder this time. Sure, the war was horrible, and his twin was missing, but laughter was always a welcomed action for a Weasley twin. And Fred would never stop laughing.

Please review, they really do help modivate me with updating!

Also if there are any errors (spelling, grammar) please let me know. My Beta was unable to edit this, so I had to edit it 10 times before posting. If I missed something I am terribly sorry and I would like to go in and fix it. That goes for ALL chapters too!