Author's Note:

Wow. It has been quite a long time. I apologise for the delay. I am currently working on the final chapters of this story and do plan on having it finished by the end of the year. I did not forget about this! I am also going back and editing all the initial chapters, improving what I didn't years ago.

As usual, please review!

Love and War
Chapter Twenty-Three

A Series Of Vows

The air was stale. It lingered in the vast halls of the infirmary from the dust which swirled down from the light fixtures that swayed back and forth on their metal chains. The tall arched windows and high ceilings allowed for even the softest sounds to boom off the ancient walls. Hermione Grangers's sleeping breath echoed within the silence; each one, unsteady and ragged, seemed louder than the last. They were all George Weasley could hear in the stillness.

The moonlight escaped the cloud cover and shimmered off the glass phial on her bedside table; the purple remnants of the Cruciatus Cure lay at the bottom. He rested in a chair by her bed, his fingers tracing circles into her soft skin as he held her hand. Just a few more hours, and it would be over. Tonight was the last session of Hermione's treatment, after this her blood would be clean again, but until then, they were in limbo. Her skin was pale and damp as she shivered in the metal frame bed, fighting through a nightmare. Her lips were almost blue from the chill that fell over her body. Tears began to drip out the corners of her scrunched eyes, and George reached over to wipe them. The potion was currently pulling all the poison out of her blood, and all he could do was sit and watch. He needed a distraction.

The soft creek that broke the silence was just that. Immediately, George grabbed his wand, ready to greet any threat with violence, but luckily need not fire a single spell. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw his younger brother Ronald Weasley standing in the doorway. Ron's towering shadow stretched across the stone floor, spanning the distance between them, and skimmed the toes of George's boots. Well, taking into consideration their last argument, this certainly would be time-consuming.

George resumed his seat and waited; he hardly cared to hear Ron's thoughts, but he was not about to start a fight with his brother. Especially when the woman he loved was suffering. Ron, however, surprised him. He turned around silently, shut the door, and walked over to where George was sitting, pausing for a beat before taking up the chair on Hermione's other side. An uncomfortable silence fell over them, the minutes stretching into an hour before they spoke. It was Ron who broke their unspoken truce of silence.

"How long does this go on for?" he asked, his tone even and stoic.

"Last time was about four hours," with a glance at his wristwatch, he continued, "about two hours left." Ron nodded. They waited another hour, both motionless except for the rise and fall of their chests. George's hand was stiff as he held Hermione's, but he refused to let go.

"I didn't know you were captured." George was a little taken aback at the sudden conversation, the topic was jarring as it was, but the suddenness of its introduction did little to ease that fact. He remained still, unsure where this was heading and unsure of what it meant exactly. "And, I didn't know that," Ron continued before trailing off.

"She's tough," George finally whispered before bringing her hand up to his lips. Hermione would make it through this. She had to. George did not think he would survive this war if she did not.

"I was a prat before." Ron finally said.

"Yes, you were," His words were sharp with finality and Ron slumped forward in his chair. Had the topic not been so severe, George would have likely been relishing in this moment. A smile plastered on his face as he let Ron fumbled through his guilt and apologies, trying and failing to be graceful in his admission of wrongdoing. This time, however, it was different.

They were talking about Hermione and her wellbeing, not some stupid childhood blunder. The awkward hesitation in Ron's voice only hinted at how difficult it was for him and, had George not watched Ron grow into the man he was now, he would have missed it. He supposed that Ron could use just a little bit of slack.

"It doesn't make it any better, I know."

"No, it doesn't." George said, but his tone was less harsh this time as he glanced up to meet his brother's gaze, "But that doesn't make it your fault either."

"I said his name," George tensed at Ron's words. Such a careless, stupid mistake lead to that, but its innocence overshadowed. It was a mistake, one that none would forget, but, unlike the actions taken in Malfoy Manor, it was not malicious. "I'm the reason they were after us. I let them take her."

"The only one to blame is the one who started the war."

They fell into the unspoken again. George did not want to say more on who was at fault. He could already feel himself getting reckless with rage and had not moved. His thoughts, however, were racing through the possibilities, anxious to get into a situation where he could wrap his hands around Fenrir Greyback's throat and watch the life slip out of the wolf's eyes. But, he had to be patient. That would come in time.

"It was bad, wasn't it." Ron startled George out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said clearing his throat, his mouth suddenly parched.

"What you did for her, saving her, I-I don't know what I could have done the same." Ron laughed sadly, "I wouldn't have been strong enough. She probably would have saved me." George remained silent, feeling the strength he had fade slowly. He was so exhausted already, and this type of emotional reconciliation was both draining and relieving. "I guess I wanted to love something as much as Dad loves Mum. I wanted someone, not something, to fight for." Ron ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands at the back of his neck sheepishly. "It is selfish, I know, but I wanted her to get me through the roughness of the war without having to return that. I didn't stop to think that maybe she needed the same. That maybe she wanted something that went just beyond this war."

That was a lot to take in, but all George could do was nod in understanding, because he could. The horror surrounding them twisted them into jaded people, selfish in any attempt at some sliver of happiness. Then there was love. That is when everything changed, and the fight became more about saving those you loved, rather than yourself. He was selfish though because all George wanted at this moment was to be alone with the woman he loved. All he wanted was for her to wake up and smile and him so he could hold her until the sun rose high. George sat there, counting the seconds as they ticked by on his watch; forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-

"You love her." It was a statement, not a question, but George still answered.

"Yes."

"More than I do."

"Ron," George sighed in defeat, "even with that being true, I don't make the decision on who she loves more. Should she want to be with someone better suited or even a troll like yourself I would let her go freely. I just want her the happiest she can be." Their eyes met again, and for the first time since Ron came to the infirmary, his eyes were not as ashamed and easy to read. George suddenly understood. Ron was not there to fight for whatever love he may have felt for Hermione; he was there to give his blessing. "I promise to love and cherish her, and always put her happiness and safety above all else."

"I know," Ron said with a crisp nod. "I won't stand in your way. You were right; I don't feel anything real about her, beyond friendship. I haven't found my footing yet in this war. It's hard. I have experienced hard, but what you went through, what she went through, that's something I'll never understand."

"And I wish you never will," George said sternly. "Ron, listen, you're my brother, and more importantly, a Weasley. You'll always have love in your life. This family is big enough to get lost in, but don't ever doubt the amount of love that surrounds you. And, as for your footing, well, it's war. I don't think any of us know how to tread. We just have to go with it and hope we make it out alive."

There was a pause before Ron spoke one more time.

"What I said before, about you not caring about her," George winced, his face scrunched with a silent hiss.

"Not one of your finer moments."

"I didn't mean that," Ron admits. "Thank you for pulling her out of that memory." With that, Ron stood, but as he turned to leave, he paused briefly, as if he wanted to say something more, but the words were too heavy. George did not blame him for it, not when Hermione was laying there in a hospital bed. It was not the time. He traced his thumb across her cheek, feeling her smooth skin under the rough callus of his finger. There was so little of that now, time; the very notion of it was fleeting, whizzing by faster than the golden snitch, and George wanted to spend every last second of it looking at Hermione Granger's face.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" Ron asked, but when George remained silent, he pressed the question again thinking that George did not understand, "Greyback; you're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am." He did not waver or stutter out the magnitude of his promise. There was no hesitation on this. Fenrir Greyback was going to die at the end of this war, and George Weasley would be the one to do it. He was never more certain of anything in his life.

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