Author's note:

I figured since it has been forever since I last updated, I would give you all a nice long chapter. I have renewed my focus on this and have already written a few chapters ahead.

I do plan on going back and polishing up some chapters as well; doing an edit to clean up some grammar, and elevate some of the language.

Like always, please review!

Chapter 25: Strategies

Ron couldn't help savouring time, but, really could you blame him?

For nearly half a year, Ron had been on the run from every danger. He was always on watch, guarding his best friend, and terrified of what lurked around them.

A life on the run, not knowing if his family or friends were alive, was draining. Ron felt it weigh down on his lungs every day, choking him with fear, but at the same time, propelling him into action.

This was war, he thought.

The ceiling fan above him spun in slow, long, swooping circles, moving the air in the dusty room. The dim light from the two lamps on the centre of a large long wooden table gave just enough light to read, and Ron let out of breath.

Oh, today was different. This moment. It was a break.

He could breathe. The last four days felt lighter; the air felt less stressful. Ron felt selfish for it, but he didn't let it stop him from enjoying every blissful second.

His family surrounded him. The family Ron had been dying to see every day since the trio first left. It was love and caring and comfort; a nirvana that made him explode with a relief he didn't know was possible. The last four days were everything…

And, in three days Ron would be leaving again.

That's what they agreed to. Just enough time to get the casting done and make a plan with Hermione. But, it would never be enough time.

So, you will have to forgive him for cherishing whatever time he felt he had left.

Ron leaded back in his leather armchair, reading through another mission briefing. The ink was smudged, some lines redacted, but he memorized each word.

The silence of the room bounced off the high ceilings; exposed wood beams absorbing the vibrations of the rustling paper in the very gently breeze of that swooping ceiling fan.

Opposite him on the other side of the long war table sat his brother, George. His back was turned to Ron, but still, Ron knew that George was deeply concentrating.

No, no matter how much time Ron savoured, time did not stop. The war did not stop.

Everyone had a purpose. Harry, Hermione, and Fred were pouring over books and potions; preparing for what was to come of them in the coming days. But, Ron knew his talents.

No, potions and new magic were not his strengths. Instead, Ron wanted to outsmart him.

What was the Dark Lord's strategy? This question fascinated Ron immensely.

Stacks and stacks of papers surrounded him as he aimed to catch up on what he was up to outside the one mission Ron knew so well.

Sure, you-know-who was immortal.

Unless one destroyed all the horcruxes, Ron reminded himself, but how did you-know-who plan to overthrow everyone in charge? If he killed every magic wielder, then he couldn't rule over anyone. How was he rallying a following?

There was a bigger picture here that Ron wanted to know.

Harry could see in the enemy's mind, but only small brush strokes in the painting of the plan. Ron wanted the whole canvas.

And, that's why he found himself in the war room.

The smell of parchment scrolls filled his breaths, blocking out any other sense. Hunger included. Ron had been rooted in this room, pouring over maps and briefings, turning into a fixture in strategy.

With a sigh, Ron lifted his eyes from the page to look over at his brother. George too was always a constant in the war room. Unlike Ron, however, this wasn't a new development. George was the strategy in this room since the war started, more than any other Weasley.

General George, Ron thought, remembering the nickname he gave his brother when he first joined the Order.

The files on George's side of the table were organized into neat piles on the wood top. A folder was flipped open in his lap as he leaned further back in his seat, the back of it just tapping the edge of the table, and though Ron couldn't see George's eyes, he knew that George was staring at the map before him.

Unwavering, studying, and seeing beyond the ink staining the page.

George's mind was always tactics and schemes. Ron was amazed by this. Especially as young kids when George taught Ron how to play chess; the number of moves George saw was unbelievable.

And in this war, it was no different.

George was still ten steps ahead. But, George didn't know all the pieces. And, Ron did. Ron knew all the little facets of information that were hidden, things that were only knowledge to him.

So, they had to work together. Together they sat, two brothers, each huddled over documents. Planning.

"It's all about power and retaining power," George suddenly said, getting up from his chair and walking to Ron's side of the table. He had a folder outstretched for Ron to take, the one he was just reading.

Ron immediately put down the parchment scroll and read through the document George was sharing. Since the night the two talked in the infirmary, Ron spent more time with George like this. Both of them, quietly working, and then abruptly collaborating.

George continued, pointing out how the werewolves joined their forces with the death eaters, "we tried to pull them to the light side, but the apprehension they have towards the ministry is the biggest hindrance. As with all creatures. You-know-who is using that to his advantage."

"Right," Ron said, meeting George's eye. George nodded, urging Ron on the right track, so Ron continued, "and, based on this… he now has the ministry, or most of it anyway. So, he can promise those creatures freedom and rights, and strike fear in his opposers. Not to mention, the muggleborn trials have sent people into hiding."

"How did you know about the trials?" George raised a curious brow, but before Ron could respond, George put his hands up in defeat, "wait, no, never mind. The mission. Don't want to know."

A chuckle escaped Ron, watching his brother turn and retreat to the other side of the room, focusing elsewhere once again and speaking to the empty air more than Ron. "What we need is to give people glimmers of hope, actions to rally them to our cause. We may not be able to promise the creatures much, but we can show them that we're fighting back. Maybe the muggleborns and creatures in hiding will see it as a call to arms."

Silence fell over them again. A faint dripping of rain could be heard against the small narrow windows which let in nothing but the darkness of the night. The air inside the room felt damp.

How can we create hope in this darkness? Ron's internal musing had been quite bipolar as of late. The more of the war he studied, the more extreme the shifts became. He saw hope in Harry, in what they were doing, but how could anyone else see hope without knowing what exactly Harry was doing. The horcrux hunt. No one knew. The hero on the run fighting for the people.

The people didn't even know their hero was fighting. They thought he was hiding.

Suddenly, the door to the war room swung open, and instinctively George's wand flew up. Ron's fingers tightened around his own, cutting off any train of thought that he may have had.

Kingsley entered, and they both lowered their wands, Ron placing his on the table next to him and George tucking his behind his ear.

"Rascal," Kingsley said George's codename with urgency, his purple robes billowing behind him as crossed the room. "I have a message from inside," he said before nodding at Ron in greeting, "Rage."

"Thanks, Royal." A sealed parchment, crisp and white, was handed to George. The lettering was unlike anything Ron had seen before, but also at the same time so familiar. He couldn't place where he had seen this hand before. George seemed intrigued by it and opened the envelope swiftly, scanning its contents with a smirk.

"Interesting," the hum that escaped George made something in Ron's stomach sink, "detection rings."

Shit, This was not good. Another wrinkle in any strategy Ron was starting to make just ruffed the playing field.

"Y'know what that means?" George asked, meeting Ron's eye once more. Of course, he knew what that meant.

"Yeah," Ron groaned, "it means we are fucked."

"No, it means we are slowed." George corrected, unrealistically calm. The table between them, the piles of parchment, the contrasts between the two brothers were all on display: chaos and control. Ron briefly felt out of his depth for a moment and remembered just how young he felt in this war. His seventeen years did not prepare him for this.

Apparition Detection rings could be anywhere, which meant moving anywhere was a risk.

They didn't have numbers. They needed speed, stealth, and forethought to win this war.

And, now they lost speed.

George was out of his mind if he still saw a victory now.

"Which means we are fucked." Ron snapped, "we can't move our pieces into play."

He was getting agitated. The rain started picking up outside; the cold creating a film condensation on the stone walls of the room. Ron felt like he was drowning in this, but his brother was blank. His breathing even. His emotions steady behind the unwavering mask of composure.

Merlin, how was George so calm? Ron had to be missing something. There was something behind George's eyes that made Ron question if he understood correctly. A narrowed gaze urged Ron to see the path.

"Ron, think about it. Moving is not the issue," George started, "we have brooms, and thestrals, and fuck, Charlie could wrangle us a dragon if we needed." A soft chuckle escaped his lips, George's smile tilting up at the thought of riding a dragon.

Maybe he's lost it a bit,Ron thought, but George pressed on, "And we can apparate, we just need to know where can't apparate."

Ron sat there, absorbing what George meant, but his brother was already moving.

George grabbed a large roll from the shelf behind Ron, pulled the thread that secured it off one end, and unrolled a fresh map of England in the centre of the table. Ron eyed it curiously before he helped secure the corners with a book and a cup. George didn't say a word, turning back to rummage through the shelves again. He pulled book after book from the shelf, quickly flipping through the contents and returning them to their place.

"Looking from something specific, Rascal?" Kingsley asked, looking at Ron who shrugged.

George hummed in response. He was moving with purpose, forming a plan that Ron could not yet see.

Just like chess. Just like when they were children, all over again.

Where we can't move, where we can't move. Ron repeated to himself, trying to see what George was seeing.

George spoke again, reading from a text that Ron hadn't seen him pull out.

"For a detection ring to retain, the caster must remain at the location or else the target area vanishes. Detection rings can only cover a certain radius. The largest radius ever known has only been 30 miles," George stopped snapping the book shut, "So, let's say 50 miles to be safe." George dropped the book next to Ron, who quickly picked it up to read the passage George just summarized.

But, George kept moving, his hands quick and focused with purpose.

Pulling out his wand from behind his ear, George placed the tip on the map. The walnut wand glowed red at the end rooted to the paper and was fixed straight up like an arrow. It was as if it was nailed to place, unmoving even after George released his hand from the wood to grab a parchment from one of his piles.

Slowly, George started turning his wand clockwise between his fingers. A red line began to bleed on the paper. It radiated an inch from the centre point, creating a circle from the mid pinpoint George's wand made.

Ron watched with intrigue as the dragon heartstring core sparked through the walnut wand and seeped onto the page. When he was done, there was a red circle around Malfoy Manor.

Then it clicked.

"Hogwarts. Hogsmede. Diagon Alley. The Burrow. Grimmauld Place." Ron immediately started listing locations with rapid speed as George added circle after circle. Ron suddenly moved with purpose, looking through the stacks of papers he accumulated. "The Ministry. Godric's Hollow." Ron continued before asking, "do we have a list of known Death Eaters strongholds?"

"In the third pile there," George said, motioning with his head to his side of the table, as he continued to create apparition zones. Kingsley moved to help them, flipping through the pages until he found it and started reciting off the locations.

Slowly, the three of them marked off the magical minefields until they finished, looking at the map.

This was the brother Ron knew. The one he looked up to most. George was never predictable. It made him dangerous and precise. It made him elusive.

Even within George's own heart, he acted without predictability. His newfound devotion to Hermione was unexpected to Ron.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised though, Ron thought to himself. The two of them getting together was different. They were opposites, the prankster and the bookworm. Opposing forces that could clash so violently just worked. They were always so drawn to each other.

Ron only saw that now in hindsight. But, George and Hermione, they were always ten steps ahead. Of course, they were.

"That all of 'em?" George asked.

"Yeah," Ron said softly. The three of them were silent as they took in their work. This was their route. This was their guidance; their no-go zone.

In the brief pause, Ron remembered the mission, before Hermione was captured. She was like smoke. Weaving through areas, finding hidden pieces of knowledge that Ron could never see.

She was always anticipating. Ron could still picture it. The moment the bloody taboo left his lips, her eyes went wide for a split second before acting with the speed of a comet. Harry and he were spinning to another place before he could say run.

The snatchers appeared with a crack, and Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and him, sending them both to some forest far from where she was.

Ron didn't even know you could make someone else apparate while you stayed behind, but Hermione somehow managed it.

Sure, the tent remained with her, as did her bag, and the sword of Gryffindor, but, he and Harry got away. And protecting Harry was her point.

The rain continued outside, the drops coming down harder against the glass. Ron turned from the table, guilt washing over him. It haunted him. Two months of being captured. Ron was only now starting to grasp how terrible it must have been.

But George knew. He knew first hand because he was there with her.

And Ron was not.

Hermione was his best friend, his family. She could have possibly been his love and Ron was not there.

But George was. George found her after two months. It was gutting to think about.

Not from jealousy, no, this was not that. It was the suffering they both went through. Ron felt like he could never be worthy of her because he was the cause of it.

But George was. He was worthy of her. More worthy of her than anyone, and Ron was starting to accept that.

Kingsley cleared his throat, trying to draw the room's attention. Ron looked up and instead of looking at Kingsley, he glanced at his brother who didn't react.

Ron was catching the way the lines on George's face were furrowed. There was something that he was trying to create with this information, something beyond just guidance. Beyond just a no-go zone.

Kingsley was an expert at handling the diplomatics of the war, dealing with the ministry from the inside. He was a voice that helped shape a lot of decisions so far. But, George saw the dark side of it, the battle plans, the strongholds, the families. How to defeat the enemy in the battles themselves, and what underground routes needed to happen to get each delicate channel set up just right so they didn't misstep.

George's left hand was cupping his chin in concentration, his right arm crossed over his chest, supporting the left elbow. His wand was secure in his right hand as he stared.

Something was brewing. Ron could see it.

A sort of wrath that Ron didn't understand. George had become more fierce. More focused. No longer just a strategist and soldier, but a hardened warrior who had a fire in his heart that radiated in every action.

A faith behind his moves.

Ron glanced back down at the map, willing himself to see something beyond just where not to step. It was a painting of what places were no longer easy, no longer safe for them.

Then Ron had a thought. Why couldn't it be no longer safe for anyone?

"George, what do you think of an offensive strike?" Ron asked suddenly. If George wanted more brutality, then Ron would follow him to war with grit and a thirst for blood.

"Offensive?" Kingsley asked, amazed.

"What're you thinking?" The focus in George's eyes never left the parchment.

"He would expect us to enter these zones," Ron said pointing at Hogwarts, Hogsmede and Diagon Alley specifically, "but if we snuck in and set up traps. Distractions. It would cause chaos. It could drive his attention away from whatever Harry is doing."

There was a brief pause, before George asked, "And, does he know what Harry is doing?"

"I think he's starting to suspect. A diversion will split his focus."

Ron waited with bated breath while George contemplated the suggestion and then he smiled. A wicked, manic gleam shone slightly in his eyes. A burning fury.

"Waves of three." George started, and Ron could only nod, picking up a quill and making notes, "a series of groups of coordinated attacks that will make him look in multiple directions. We cannot create a pattern in our timing or they may grow more suspicious of our movements, so we set each attack up as soon as we can strike."

He and Ron immediately started planning out targets. Public areas are ideal. Gorilla warfare of their underground rebellion.

"The ministry is holding another vote in a week," Kingsley suggested, "we could plan for then."

"No," Ron said, "that would be too obvious."

"Agreed," said George before adding, "a few days before wouldn't be though."

"And it would put a seed of doubt during the vote," Kingsley said. A silent accord was struck. "I will inform the rest of the order. Put together some teams. Great work, Rascal. Rage."

With a nod, Kingsley left the room, shutting the wood door behind him.

The war room was quiet once more. The planning was over. They sealed their fates.

Ron reclaimed his seat as he resumed reading the diplomatic briefings, pulling away from George's attack plans. George was still standing though, making notes on the parchment as he hunched over the map.

It was unsettling. George was emotionless. He looked at the enemy as nothing. He was burning with silent rage.

Maybe that should have been his code name, and not mine. Ron thought as he glanced at the notes his brother was making.

"George," Ron said finally, hoping to understand who his brother had grown into.

A man, a good and devoted man. Kind and gentle to those who he loved, but also one with scars turned anger.

"Hmm," George responded, not bothering with a glance. There was a determination there that Ron could not break. But he would continue to try.

"You're different."

"How so?" George asked, again, not looking up at him. His focus was unwavering.

"Remorse-less almost," Ron said with finality, hoping to pull some softness out of his brother. Ron had only seen George that sweet side come out around Hermione lately. Ron worried it would never come out again. "It's as if you've abandoned compassion."

"You act as if they have compassion for us," George was cold, but with a sigh, the heavy weight of his shoulders sank, "but that doesn't mean we have to be as heartless." George agreed.

Going quiet once more, Ron let the words resonate.

Despite what George said before, blaming only the death eaters, Ron couldn't help but feel that George still blamed him for Hermione's capture. Why wouldn't he, Ron still did. He was the reason they suffered. He was the reason George was so hardened, and Hermione was so broken.

And then, Ron said it. The question he wanted to ask since George made his promise. The question swirled in Ron's head, trying to understand how anyone could be so premeditated about such an act.

"Then why're you going to kill him?" Ron clarified softly, "Greyback. Why kill him?"

George was still, so still, Ron feared his voice went unheard. But then George spoke, "I don't want anyone to die, Ron."

There was a resolve there that said the opposite. George was going to kill Greyback. That was a vow already promised and Ron feared questioning again. George was going to kill that werewolf; it was just a fact. A reality as real as the oxygen in his lungs.

But still, Ron pressed. Fear that George blamed him urged the conversation.

"You're angry George, I know, I am too. What they did to you, to Hermione."

"They never should have been allowed to breathe near her let alone lay a hand on her," George said, deathly calm. No clenching of his teeth. No change in breathing, just calm stoic statements. It made the hair on Ron's neck stand as he hung his head in defeat.

"But, it is not your fault, Ron. You have to stop blaming yourself" George softened, and Ron snapped his gaze to this brother who was finally looking at him.

Ron needed to know that his brother was not a shade of who he once was. He needed to know that George wasn't becoming manic with how the war evolved around them.

"After the war," Ron said, hoping to remind George of an after, "after all this, after we win after you end him, what happens next?"

George sighed, trying to find the right words before saying, "we try to find peace."

There it was.

George's face was no longer unfeeling when he spoke. Conveying forgiveness and support.

His brother, the kind man Ron once knew, was back. It was compassion, caring, and comfort. And Ron knew that when this was all over, George wasn't to be lost to anger.

No, George would be set free.