Author's Note:

Here it is! I told you guys I found my second wind right? I was considering splitting this into two chapters, but I really do love it when one chapter has two perspectives on a scene.

This is a realization chapter really. A realization of one thing, from two people's point of view. Hopefully you guys like it. I really tried to show the panic in George, and the insecurity in Fred.

I did just want to say that This story, all it's chapters, has been such a pleasure to write. I love playing with themes and ideas. AND I am so glad that you all get to be a part of it, not to mention enjoy it. I think this may be one of my favourite chapters that I have written so far. Second favourite actually. The first being the scene in the tent with George's passion and Hermione's bath (Chapter 9: Reflections). I played with the idea of elements in that one. (George's scene being fire, Hermione's being water). If you feel like reminiscing with me, go back and read it. ... Right, current chapter first, get on with it.

Thank you all for the kind reviews. It's a relief to know you all still want to read my story after such a long break. I do apologize about that again. Please enjoy this one. And most importantly, please do review. I love hearing your feedback. It lets me know whether I am on the right track and suggestions always add to my creative process. Yes I know, I know, GET ON WITH IT! so ENJOY!

Disclaimer:

J.K Rowling owns all... as usual. If she didn't I would be filthy rich now wouldn't I.

Love and War Chapter 13
A Home Coming

An eternity seemed to pass. The minutes inched by at a rate comparable to years. Waiting helplessly for his allies to arrive, George Weasley cradled the woman he cherished, baffled by the rate of her heart. It slowed, further and further, the feeble beating nearing a halt and George knew time was running out. Hermione Granger was dying in his arms and he was incapable of stopping it.

What's taking so long, he thought before calling out towards the small stronghold. The sounds which surrounded him, the birds chirping, the leaves rustling, the fountain running, it all smudged into a silence before reaching his ear. He was panicking, that was evident by his skin paling, his vision blurring and his mind replaying everything. The inevitability of this moment was certain, but George still had no idea how it happened.

One second Hermione Granger was smiling up at him. Her eyes filled with mirth and affection, her lips placing a tender kiss on his cheek, her warm smile widening against his skin. Even her words, as they whispered the request to leave, were filled with a steady joy. Life still thumped through her. And then they apparated.

Her landing outside of Kingsley's castle was anything but steady. She slumped into his side, eyes shut, and a pained expression coated her face. It seemed as though she was fighting to stay alert, but when George whispered her name, her body gave in. Tumbling to the ground and taking George with her, Hermione finally let the exhaustion win. I should've known the apparition would be hard on her. George scolded himself, as he pulled her unconscious form closer.

"Hermione love," Whispering to her, he attempted to coax her out of whatever reality she got herself trapped in. "Wake up love, please." George's voice was hoarse with repressed tears as he spoke, a slight shake to his timber.

"Please," he called to the large head quarters, "Fred help." But still no one. His thumb brushed against her cheek as she shuddered in the terror of remembrance, thankful that her heart rate sped up a little. His hands shook with nerves as he brushed his fingers through her hair. And all George could do was wait. "Merlin what's taking so long?" He yelled in frustration and finally, he saw it.

In the distance, across the walkway, past the entrance garden, behind the fountain, he saw it. The doors to the small castle opened. Flaming hair identical to his own stood out amongst the brick and wood, and George let out the breath he had been holding. The suppressed tears finally released as his twin rushed towards him with Kingsley and his parents in tow.

"George!" Fred yelled, before coming to a stop just before him, "Merlin, is that—"

"Ensure that it's him," Kingsley's voice boomed before George could answer, and suddenly a wand was raised to him. Three wands were raised to him. He gulped, and looked back down to Hermione, defeat dripping over him slowly. He vaguely recalled Fred's voice asking him a question let alone answering it.

"Georgie," The hushed tone which escaped Fred was comforting. Kneeling next to his brother, Fred draped an arm over George's shoulders and finally their eyes met.

"Freddie, help," George felt the tears dripping off his chin but did nothing to hide them. Fear filled him and he gulped down a silent sob before Fred nodded. Pulling the pack off of George's shoulders and tossing it to their father, Fred stood up. Together, they lifted the witch up into George's arms and began hurrying towards the entrance.

"Hermione," Molly's voice, laced with shock, asked gently, but there was no time to answer questions. Something which Fred seemed to understand as well.

"Mum, bruise balm, bone cure, and all the potions that are bottled downstairs." The list Fred gave, stern and controlled, was full off a knowledge George had no idea Fred knew, but for some reason it calmed him. He trusted in his twin, knowing somehow Fred, in the short time they were separated, knew what he was doing. "Get them and meet me in the infirmary."

There was an authority to Fred which their mother seemed to blindly accept, and George could not help the subtle pride which swelled in his chest. They raced up the stairs, Fred leading them higher up into the fortress, before bursting through the black doors on the third floor. "Set her down here."

George could only comply, relieved to relinquish control to the only person he trusted so fully. Well, other than Hermione. Fred began removing the bandage on her ankle, rolling up her pant leg. The swelling from her ankle rose up to her knee, the run obviously doing more damage than Hermione or he expected. The bruises which seemed so large in such a short time caused a hitch in George's breath and he felt his legs give out beneath him.

Collapsing to his knees next to the bed, George's hand clasped Hermione's as he turned to look at Fred.

"It was only her ankle earlier," he whispered far too quiet to hear, but Fred did. Responding with a curt nod, as Molly came rushing into the infirmary, vials and bottles filling her arms.

"Mum, pain potion first," he said, but George could not bear it any longer. He turned to gaze at Hermione, focusing on her, not registering the words his brother and mother were saying. He just watched with slight terror widening his eyes, as they forced potions into her mouth, tilting her head back so ensure it went down her throat.

Slowly Fred and Molly worked their way up from injury to injury, seemingly ignoring the large bloodied bandage on her ribs. Fred often turned to ask George for information on each bruise, each cut, needing to know a timeline of the occurrence. He complied numbly, mumbling responses, but never letting his eyes leave Hermione's face.

His fingers stroked through her hair, dipping down to brush his thumb across her cheek on occasion. Merlin, she was beautiful. George could feel the intensity of her strength pulsing through her. She fought for life, for freedom, for joy, and he gaped in wonder at the beauty of her determination. The feminine features of her face softened slightly at the affects of the potions, reminding him of all the qualities she possessed. Her compassion, her will, her brains. She was bloody perfect.

A sharp intake of breath drew him out of his musings. His eyes met Fred's before noticing the bandage he held in his hand. Glancing at his mum, he noticed her stare, wide and fearful, focused on Hermione's side. The words marring Hermione's skin fuelling a mix of pity, sympathy and sadness within the older witch, as she brushed away the tears. George wanted to growl, he wanted to berate them on their emotions, explain that this was a sign of her bravery and strength but Molly's voice spoke before he could.

"The skin seems to be turning black around the wound," she noted, emotion devoid from her tone drawing Fred's attention once more to the injury. With a nod, he attempted to pour a potion on the abrasion, but Fred's brows furrowed with confusion when nothing happened.

"How fresh is this one Georgie," Fred asked, his attention never wavering from the gash and his tongue peeking out the side of his lips. But George could not answer, his words left him as he remembered the day she was lasted tortured. Turning back to Hermione, he ran his fingers up and down her forearm just as he did when she returned that fateful night. He wanted so badly for her to wake up and smile up at him like she had before they apparated. Fred's stern voice drawing his focus once more. "George, how old is this wound?"

"Three weeks," he mumbled feeling embarrassed, as if he should have known how to heal it. George should have known how to protect her.

"And it hasn't healed in the slightest?" George shook his head. "Mum, it's not clotting. I can't heal this one, but I think I know what it is." Fred and Molly exchanged a knowing glance, but George did not notice. He felt like a part of him was broken watching her. How injured she was; it was his fault. He should have stopped them.

"I'll send for Bill." He hardly even heard the rest of his mother's voice welcoming him back. George, however happy to return, felt alone. His breath hitched as he realized the magnitude of emotion rushing to the forefront. If Hermione died today, he would be empty. Emptier than he was now with her just injured and she was still in this world. The fading foot falls which echoed off of the walls of the infirmary mirrored his solitude. George promised he would never leave her, but he never thought Hermione would leave him.

The silence thundered off the walls of the infirmary, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall acting as a metronome as it kept a perfect tempo. Glancing up, Fred Weasley paled at how much time actually passed since his brother arrived with a nearly dead Hermione Granger in his arms. He spent the last hour and a half working his, pun intended, healing magic, but now, after what felt like minutes, Fred was defeated. Exhaustion soaked through him, and he slumped forward in his chair.

Fiery locks were clenched between fingers, the stress of healing left uncompleted made Fred's heart heavy, and, as he let out a soft breath, he realized how incompetent he truly felt. Hermione's side, just the thought of the wound sending a shiver through him, could not be fixed. Not with simple healing magic. Complex spells and potions were needed, ones he was not familiar with. Ones that required the trained eyes of his elder brother, Bill Weasley, but until then, the wound was left untreated.

Never had Fred felt this mixture of emotion before. Dejection and elation. He failed at fixing something so vile, something so gruesome, that it could only be a torment of war. Yet, the relief that washed over his entire being was like no other. Not only had Hermione returned, but George Weasley, his twin brother, was back as well. And more or less in one piece, at least physically. Emotionally, on the other hand, now that was a completely different story.

A looming emotion blanketed George, something which Fred could never understand. A result of an experience one never wished to endure. George was left with scars, scars which marked his bravery, scars which would constantly remind him of how much evil lingered in the world. Scars which eluded Fred's comprehension.

Glancing up from the foot of Hermione's bed, unsure of what to say, Fred watched George. How he had not moved, not once since Hermione was brought into the infirmary. George still rested next to her, his hand still clasping hers, rubbing circles on her skin with his thumb. Tired eyes were locked on the rise and fall of her stomach, ensuring she was alive, but George's head hung low. His breaded chin almost touching his chest, allowing his hair to fall in front of his eyes. His breathing, Merlin, it was ragged. Breaths choking with unshed emotion. And he did not speak, not since mum went to send word for Bill. Fred knew then, watching his brother break at the seams that George was in love with Hermione.

Taking an unsteady breath of his own, Fred placed his head in his hands, shutting his eyes tight as his palms pressed hard against his face. The dreams, horrible dreams, of his twin being tortured still lingered in Fred's mind. Before, when they had captured George, it plagued Fred constantly, but now it was a different image standing in the forefront: George's return. It blazed against Fred's closed lids and haunted him in a way beyond anything he had ever seen.

His eyes, George's ice blue eyes, once filled with an innocent mirth were a shadow of former happiness. Glazed with a layer of tears, which dripped down to his stubble coated chin, the ghost waters were wide with fear. George had looked so broken, panicked, as an unbridled terror radiated and crashed in large tidal waves onto Fred.

And his voice, hoarse and childlike, only echoed that dread, shaking Fred to the core. Just thinking about it, George on his knees, hands holding Hermione tight to him, as he pleaded for him, for help. It left Fred without words. Only nodding then, Fred was able to push his focus on the task at hand. Now however, taking in the memory and present, Fred still lacked articulation.

What could he say? George had been tortured and obviously witnessed Hermione's torture as well, if not the very least, the after affects of it. There was nothing Fred could do to take that away. But he had to try right? He had to offer some form of outlet. For George. He was his twin after all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fred's voice was soft as he lifted his head to look at his brother, though George did not meet his gaze.

"Hmm," George was obviously too engrossed within his mind to have heard the question.

"What happened," Fred continued, his voice a little stronger than before, more sure of himself. "Do you want to talk about it?" George just softly shook his head before finally meeting Fred's eye.

"No," he paused before continuing. "What happened," his eyes returned to Hermione. "It can't be explained in words." But Fred was not the least bit upset about George's secrecy on the subject. To be honest, he was not quite sure he could bear hearing the details.

"So," He started again, after a moment of silence, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Granger?"

"Wh-What?" George's voice cracked as he snapped his eyes back to Fred, and Fred's smirk only widen into a small grin, glad to lighten the mood, even if it was brief.

"You fancy Granger."

"I-I," A heavy sigh escaped him, as if he had been holding in an immense weight, and George turned his focus back to Hermione, "Yeah, I do." There was another beat of silence before Fred spoke up again, wanting to keep his brother engaged in conversation.

"Ron is going to kill you." Fred said with ease, knowing the reaction he would receive. He wanted to pull George away from fear and anger was a good start.

"Ron is the reason she was almost killed." The response was sharp, like a sword moving swiftly through the air, and though his voice had not risen in volume, it was laced with venom. George's hand, the one not occupied by Hermione's, tightened on the bed sheet; knuckles turning white with a waning control.

"Still," Fred knew he was pushing his luck now, "He will be furious."

"Yeah," the same venom drenched George's voice but a slight betrayal lingered behind his words and though George released the blanket, his hand shook with the shivers of anger. Fred knew that George assumed sides were taken.

"That doesn't mean I agree with him y'know," Fred said flatly and George seemed to suddenly relax from shock.

"It doesn't?" He asked, unsure but surprised, and Fred chuckled. His brother was easy to read.

"Little brother or not," though Fred's tone softened, it was still full of a joking amusement, "You're my twin, who I just got back," he smiled, pausing for a moment, choking on his words slightly. Clearing his throat, Fred continued. "And, y'know for a fact I would always stand behind you."

"Thanks," The anger in him dissipating slightly and George smiled down at Hermione briefly, "She's a fighter this one." Fred whispered a soft 'yea' before George added. "Least I can do is fight for her right?" George's words were so quiet, Fred thought he may have not of heard him speak at all, but George was glancing up at him now and Fred could only respond with a gulp and nod.

The seriousness of the question took Fred by surprise. He wanted to assure George that he indeed had fought hard, that George was strong enough to fight whatever needed for her, but the words, which lodged in his throat, were cut off.

"I don't know where," a soft whisper came from the bed and both twins glanced over at the unconscious woman. Fred's eyes were smothered with surprise. The dreamless sleep was supposed to be just that, dreamless. And yet, her fingers twitched before she settled again. Another soft murmur came out, though this time unintelligible, and George instantly settled it with gentle whispering.

"Shh love," he gripped her hand tighter, while his fingers stroked through her chestnut tresses. "I'm here," and suddenly Fred felt like he was intruding on a very intimate moment. So, slowly, he stood, walked over to George and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. George stayed focused on Hermione.

"For what it's worth," Fred said slowly, knowing George would not look up to him, but was listening. "Ron never deserved her. He never fought for her." With a soft smile, and a squeeze of the shoulder, Fred left his twin to have some privacy with the woman he loved.

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