Author's Note:

I honestly cannot believe this story became what it did. This is my new favourite chapter. I am just so happy. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do.

Disclaimer:

J.K. Rowling owns all.

Love and War Chapter 17
Admissions

In an instance, life can be altered beyond recognition. A quick blink and the fabric of reality can be forever shredded. All that is tangible and cherished can be changed, morphed, into the frightful unknown. For Hermione Granger, the world changed with one pivotal weapon: a crumpled envelope.

With the flashing of green light and the smell of burnt floo powder, Bill Weasley had left the infirmary, leaving with Hermione a glimpse into the future. Suddenly, life had once again, become centred on the war as she gripped the unopened letter with shaky hands. The words staining the parchment stood out, her name spelt in the familiar shaky scribbling of her best friend, Harry Potter, and Hermione released the breath that she held.

Her finger traced the rushed letters, both cherishing and cursing its importance, while her foot tapped against the stone of the infirmary ward in anxiety. This concealed her fate. Her life hung in the balance with the contents of this piece of correspondence, and though the paper seemed innocent, Hermione knew the danger, which lurked in the ink.

Glancing up at the clock on Fred's work desk, Hermione realized how much time had lapsed. For three hours, she had sat staring at this unopened mail. For three hours, she had avoided her destiny. For three hours, she had sat, alone, contemplating what unknown lingered. Was she doomed to die in this war? Was she doomed to watch her friends die? Hermione hoped that she was not meant to live through this horror alone. Alone like she was now, sitting on her infirmary bed, clutching at some parchment.

George had left her with some privacy to mull over Harry's instructions, but Hermione assumed he had really left to clear his own mind. Anger still coursed through him at the thought of her leaving again, an anger, which was mirrored by confusion in Hermione. She was actually thankful that he had let her have a few moments to pounder what all this meant. His support lingered though, urging her to face the fears, which swirled through her mind, the real fears, the ones beyond a silly letter.

Her wound was sealed in a permanent scar, stark white against her skin, becoming a mark that was hardly avoidable. It was a constant reminder that to some, she was an abomination. A vile creature not deserving of life. A sub-being not worthy of happiness or love. This reminder was with her for the rest of her days now, and though she rarely marched with her side so exposed, Hermione knew it was there for everyone to see. George knew it was there.

Moreover, what of George? Was his fate sealed in the words as well? Hermione's eyes widened with fear as she pictured George, dead at her feet. The bloody claws of Fenrir shining brightly in the dark. Bellatrix's cackling laughs echoing through the cloud. What if he was to die before she told him how much she truly cherished him?

Glancing down at the white parchment, she sunk into her confusion. She knew she should open it, but Hermione's fingers failed her. Locked in fear, the letter remained in her grip, its contents a feared mystery as thoughts of hesitation filled her. Her hesitation to play a role unfit for her. The ever-devoted sidekick, giving life, limb and sanity to aid the chosen one was not who she was anymore. Her hesitation to admit when she was truly wounded and needed help. Hermione was damaged, fearful of her own abilities, fearful of the delusions she refused to admit were present. Her hesitation to act. Hermione was losing her mind with the emotions she did not voice, the love she did not voice.

Merlin, Hermione's eyes were like saucers as the truth registered. Hermione was just not mad for George Weasley; she was completely in love with him. Not just puppy love either, the real, deep and dark kind of love people sacrifice their souls for.

Well, that was indeed something entirely different.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she processed this development. George Weasley, the man who saved her life, literally and metaphorically, was the man she was truly in love with. Merlin, if this letter really was sentencing her to her death, was she really willing to die without George not knowing how she felt. No. No, she was not.

Hermione stood, clenching her fists, the parchment rumpling in her fingers. This was it. She would put an end to this hesitation once and for all. Her mind was a minefield of instability she had to admit that to herself.

"I am seeing things," she finally whispered out loud, "I am seeing things which are not real but feel like it." She said a little louder, strength filling her voice as she marched towards the infirmary door, her mind clear with direction though her eyes stung with unshed tears. "I am seeing things and need help." Pulling the door open she walked in a steady pace, summoning her courage to speak these words to someone other than herself. Up the stairs, she climbed, one foot after another, before finally halting at the doors of Kingsley's overstocked library. Pausing, she placed her fingers on the ornate handle, admitting to herself the last important piece of truth. "I am in love with George Weasley."

The fury, which radiated through the air was blinding. A red haze seemed to settle over George Weasley's vision, clouding his mind in a rage unlike any other. He paced in the boil, the steady movement keeping him from going on a deatheater-killing spree, as he muttered to himself. This was the sight, which Fred Weasley walked in on.

"Must be serious?" There was a soft cheer to Fred's voice, which immediately sliced through George's patience. He turned towards the entrance, fists clenched, eyes ablaze, but before he could take off on his hunt, Fred spoke again. "You're in a library George, whatever it is, must be serious."

"You were there," George said, slightly deflated.

"Ah, that."

"I'm going to personally kill Fenrir." George promised, his tone devoid from any tremors. He had been muttering this vow as he paced. He had made this vow when Hermione finally revealed who sliced into her flesh. That evil excuse for a werewolf had dug his claws into his Hermione. That bastard had run his filthy paws down her naked side, pushing himself on top of her. That vile creature was not going to get away with any of it.

"I'm sure there is something beyond that," George felt his legs wobble under Fred's perceptive gaze. George was deflecting, but that still did not discredit his anger. Fenrir would be dealt with. "What's chewing at your ankles, Georgie?"

"Another mission," George blurted, before his weight finally became too much, and he collapsed into the armchair behind him. Fred understood instantly, the linkage allowing for the most minimal amount of communication necessary. Hermione was leaving again.

"That's not bloody happening," Fred scoffed in a mirrored anger, settling on the arm of the plush black chair.

"Another fucking mission, Fred." Resting his elbows on his knees, George slumped, his head falling forward into his hands in defeat.

"Georgie," Fred rubbed George's back soothingly, desperately trying to calm his twin, as he struggled to reign in his own anger. "Listen, she can say no, but more importantly, I can say no. She won't go until she clears her scan, I promise you that. As her healer, I've at least got a say in it." As reassuring as Fred was, George could hardly concentrate on his brother's words. He buried his face into his palms, his fingers circling against his temples as he fumed.

This was impossible. The chosen one and his dim-witted younger brother could not just barge back home and risk the life of his brilliant witch. Not when she could hardly be around large groups. This could not, in any way, shape or form, be beneficial to the war effort. Hermione was a warrior. A brilliant one. And of course, she was intelligent, so much so that George was sure in this state, she would definitely be a valuable weapon against evil. But she was not ready for this. Not the same mission that had gotten her captured.

George was not okay with this. Not when he knew, her safety hung in the balance. Her life hung in the balance. Resting his chin on his hands, he gazed at the black door of the library. If she died because of those foolish boys, he would never forgive either of them, family or not.

With a sigh, George glanced over to his brother, looking towards the steady support that refused to leave his side.

"Freddie," George cleared his throat, "Thank you. For everything." Fred only nodded, before both twins lapsed into silence once more.

It did not last long.

Only a moment later, the library door bashed against the wall as it swung open. Hermione, the very woman that George's sanity rested on, marched over toward them, determination masked her face. Taking in the tears, which dripped down her cheeks, George immediately rose to his feet. Fred, who had fallen off the armchair in her entrance, was struggling to do the same from the floor.

"Love," George began, only to be hushed, Hermione's frantic breaths coming out in between soft sobs. He was unsure as to what could have caused her such distress. She rushed across the room, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.

"George," she gulped, her voice coming out in choppy words, "I don't want to go. I can't go."

"Shh, love," George whispered as he stood dumbfounded. He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head, "You aren't going anywhere. Is that was it said?"

"I can't go," She repeated firmly before breaking from his hold with a shove. He stood stunned, watching her back away. Hermione was backing away from him. He felt his heart sinking, breaking as her eyes stared into his him with a widened fear. "If I don't do this now, I never will." To say George was confused was an understatement. He was baffled, completely bewildered. Hermione never pushed him away like that before. Did he do something wrong? "I am seeing things." She spoke clearly, and George's mental tirade halted instantly.

"Seeing things?" Fred piped up, his voice stern, but urging Hermione on. She nodded, and held up her hand, silently asking for no interruption.

"I am seeing things that are not real, but feel like that are." She said, her voice growing in strength. "I am seeing things and need help." George swallowed the thickness of the moment, knowing that Fred had been completely right all along. Poison was coursing through her veins, and they had to stop it. They had to stop it now. "I need help, and I need you, George. I need you." George's eyebrows shot up. He knew Hermione was connected to him now. He knew how he felt about her and he knew she relished in his support and comfort, but needed him. She needed him? "I am in love with George Weasley."

His breath sailed out of his lungs in that moment. It felt like a punch in the gut, but in the best possibly way. She loved him. Merlin, he was floating above happiness now. George was living in ecstasy. Hermione Granger, the love of his bloody life, loved him too. It was not just the capture for her. All this was real. The deep kind of love people sacrifice their souls for. Dark and Scary, but most importantly, real.

Instantly, he moved to her. In two steps, George cleared the distance, Hermione's determination now in his eyes as well, blending with lust, want and love. His arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her against his chest, while his other cupped her cheek. His thumb traced along the soft flesh as George gazed down at her.

Her smile was radiant, blissful like the joy she brought him. Her hair was wild, trying to break free from the loose bun, mimicking her passion. Her molten amber eyes melted the ice of his own, shining with the love she finally expressed. She was everything, absolutely everything, and she was in love with him.

Hermione leaned up on her toes, her arms rising to rest around his neck. His hand moved to get lost in her hair, pulling it out of its confines, while her fingers played with the fiery strands on his neck. It was then he swooped down, pressing his lips to hers gently, feeling her breath sweet against his. The kiss was sweet and epic. It was what he longed for all this time and when he heard Hermione's soft moan, and he knew she waited just as long.

"'Mione," he hummed, relishing in her flavour. Butter beer and peppermint. George was convinced there was nothing sweeter. "I love you, too, 'Mione." George said against her lips as they curved upward. His soft tongue traced the tender flesh of her bottom lip, begging to deepen the passion, and he felt Hermione's nails gently scratch at his neck. Her lips parted, her tongue meeting his, stroke for stroke, in a battle that mimicked the war. This war, however, was not one of hate. This was a fight for dominance, for passion, for love, and when he felt Hermione's teeth graze his bottom lip, claiming it as her own before soothing it with her tongue, he smiled into her victory.

"Don't know how long I waited for that, love," George whispered as he pulled back from the fires of her passion. His forehead rested against hers, feeling her deep breaths against him, urging him to resume where he had left off.

"You two are both bloody mental," George heard Fred's laughter from behind them, and instantly, they pulled back a little further. A soft blush tinged at Hermione's cheeks, as she ducked her head with a slight embarrassment, while George wrapped his arm around her shoulders, securing her into his side.

Fred had settled into an armchair, already reading a large medical text. He was smiling to himself slightly, obviously not keen in watching his brother snog a witch, but still completely happy for the two. This allowed the sly smile on George's face to morph into an easy grin. A calm silence filled the library, as the three settled into the seating area in the middle of the room. Hermione was nestled closer into George's chest, her lips, reddened and slightly raw, were in a tight wistful smile, while George's fingers traced a familiar route up and down the length of her back. It was at this moment that the sound of a rushing floo could be heard down in the common area of Kingsley's Castle. The arrivals finally arrived.

"I didn't read it," Hermione said softly. Fred had risen from his seat, the large text, snug in the crook of his arm, while George had remained seated with his love, but both gave Hermione the same curious look. One brow raised in question, eyes trained, waiting for her answer. "The letter," she continued, "I was too frightened of all I said earlier, much more so than the letter, that it took precedent. I have no idea what it says." She gestured to the forgotten parchment, crumpled on the floor at Fred's feet.

"It doesn't matter what it said," George said, placing his finger under her chin, urging her eyes met his. "You're not going anywhere."

"Hermione," Fred pulled their focus once more. "George is right; you're not going on any mission. I don't clear you for it." He said with a wink, before walking out of the library to greet their fellow order members. Fred's laughter followed him out the door and suddenly there was a slight change in the air.

"It's time love," Hermione tensed in anticipation and terror, causing George's grasp on her to grow more firm. With a nod, both of them stood, their fingers laced in a show of unity. This was it. It was time to say no to the golden boys of the war. Their last stand, but glancing at Hermione, George smiled. He leaned down, lingering in the tender kiss he gave her, assuring her of his support. Their eyes met as he pulled back, and George knew, that no matter what awaited them, Hermione and he were in this together.

Please review!