A/N not totally satisfied with this one but it's as good as I could make it. hope this satisfies! thank you all for the awesome comments on the last one. They really made me smile!

Chapter 18

Halfway through putting George to rights, three more cracks of apparition set them all on edge. Arthur and Gideon ran out of the house ready to fight, everyone but Hermione waiting with bated breath, only to return a minute later with three Order members. Her suspicion at Dumbledore's involvement resolved into certainty when she recognized two of them, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shaklebolt.
But she couldn't worry about that until after George was healed. Pushing her anger back behind her shields, she ignored the newcomers and pulled Molly and Fabian back to his still bleeding shoulder.
Over an hour after they'd begun, the soft tissue in George's shoulder was as good as it ever would be. Unable to mend the bones shattered by Greyback's mauling however, they had been forced to banish his clavicle and scapula. Skele-gro Molly had thankfully had on hand waited on the counter for when he woke. He would be alright, badly scarred, but whole. Having some idea how painful the night ahead would be for him, Hermione wished there was anything more she could do.
He had been in and out of consciousness as they worked over him, mumbling her real name more than once, calling Molly, 'Mum' and most of all, crying out for Fred. Clearly confused and no doubt compiling a list of questions, Molly had done her best to ignore him as she helped Hermione and Fabian. Part of Hermione wanted to avoid the conversation, maybe obliviate the memories. But it was thoughts of their future, hers and George's here in the past, that made her reconsider.
Unfortunately, that important conversation would have to wait. There were three Order members in the other room that Gideon had asked to stay so that they might feel her ire. By the time she trudged into the sitting room, Alastor was standing impatiently by the fireplace.
"And who are you to have demanded that we stay here, Missy? We need to report to Dumbledore, not wait around for bossy little girls."
Too exhausted to rise to his bait, Hermione crossed her arms and stared the paranoid auror down. "I'm Helen. Ask Dumbledore, he knows who I am. And while you're at it, you can ask him how the bloody hell he knew to send you here and why the bloody hell he waited so long to do it! As you can see, you were a little late. And, I don't recall anyone here sending word to Dumbledore when those bastards arrived."
Kingsley shifted uncomfortably where he stood beside them but Alastor was undaunted.
"Oh I'll be asking Dumbledore plenty, but I want to hear it from you. And don't think just because you're part of their little hat project you're above suspicion."
Scoffing, Hermione shook her head and turned away from him. Gideon moved between the two of them, holding a hand up to stop the auror following her as she sank into a chair. "Calm down, Alastor. Her fiancé's just been nearly killed by Greyback. George, is his name. A Prewett and our cousin. She went to school in France and they've been living there for a while. You don't know every witch and wizard on the Isle. Just because they're not in the Order doesn't mean they're Death Eaters."
"Greyback was here?" Cutting in for the first time, Kingsley spoke to Hermione. "Were any of the children hurt? Did you manage to kill him or did he get away?"
She sniffed and crossed her legs. "The children are fine, obviously. Do you think anyone would give a toss about you or Dumbledore if they'd been hurt? Greyback was badly injured but unfortunately, he did escape. None of the other four survived."
Alastor stomped around Gideon. "You killed four Death Eaters but you let that savage beast escape? And who were they? Have any of you checked yet?"
They glared at each other for a moment before Hermione snapped at the imposing auror. "Have you ever met Greyback? Have you even ever seen him? Always half transformed and even more massive than you?" Her voice wavered. "Have you ever seen what he can do to even a powerful wizard? No? I didn't think so."
The third person she now recognized as a very young and mentally sound Frank Longbottom, put a hand on Alastor's shoulder and pulled him back from her. "She's right. Any werewolf is difficult to take down, but Greyback's in a class of his own. I'm surprised they were able to beat him back without losing anyone to be honest."
Grumbling but accepting the other man's word, Alastor turned back to Gideon. "Well? Have you checked the bodies?"
He ticked the names off on his hand. "Rosier, Selwyn, Jugson Sr., and one other I didn't recognize. They're all out back, go have a look if you want."
"Hmm…" He lumbered towards the door. "It's too bad one of the more important bastards wasn't here. I'd be celebrating if it was Dolohov or Malfoy lying out there."
Hermione sighed heavily and rubbed at the blood staining her knuckles as he stomped out the door. If she ever saw Dolohov again, Hermione knew she would do everything she could to kill him.
"I'd like to have a look at your injured man. If he was bitten by a werewolf…"
Hot, protective fury exploded in her belly as Hermione leapt to her feet and jabbed a stunned Kingsley in the chest. "Don't you dare. It's not a full moon, he'll be fine! And even if it was, and he were going to be a full werewolf it wouldn't matter to me. Not all werewolves are monsters like Greyback and you're not going near George!"
Gideon pulled her back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's ok, Helen. He's not going to hurt him. He's an auror and he's seen these kinds of injuries before. Let him look at him. You said yourself that you've never treated anything like that before. No one's going to hurt George, love. He's alright."
Letting out a sharp breath and blinking back angry tears, she nodded and led Kingsley back into the kitchen. Molly was sitting beside the table, holding one of George's hands and watching him with watery eyes. When she heard them come into the room, she wiped her face and stood up.
"Hello Kingsley, nice to see you. Helen, I'll be upstairs with the boys."
Hermione nodded and took Molly's place beside the table once she'd gone. On his other side, Kingsley cast an array of diagnostic charms Hermione had never seen. Too tired to try to decipher them, she leaned against the table and took George's hand, bringing it to her cheek.
"Well, he's lucky to have survived by the look of it. Somehow he missed severing the major arteries, but Merlin that scar. Must have been a proper mess before you fixed him up." Kingsley gave her a funny look. "Molly just happened to have powdered silver lying around?"
Hermione shook her head, not looking away from George. "No. We came back home from France well prepared. It's no secret the Dark Lord uses werewolves. It seemed prudent."
Eyeing her approvingly, he nodded and gestured to George's shoulder. "Well, as it wasn't a full moon it might not have been strictly necessary but there's no easier way to seal a werewolf bite no matter the day of the month. Likely he'll still have a touch of the wolf though." He shrugged. "It's good you were prepared. And by the looks of it, you've healed him as good as anyone else might've."
She snorted softly and looked up at the auror. "Well it wasn't just me. Molly's brilliant with healing magic. Fabian and I have had a more learn-as-needed education. Together we managed."
"You said you knew Dumbledore and I know you're both working with the twins on their hat project somehow." Kingsley canceled the diagnostic charms and put his wand away. "Have you considered joining the Order? Molly's got her hands full but we could use another healer."
Looking away from Kingsley, Hermione returned her focus to George. "No. We want nothing to do with Dumbledore."
"Hmm. I noticed you seemed upset with him." He paused thoughtfully. "You almost seemed accusatory."
"He was here the other day. We haven't had a chance to look at the wards yet but from what Gideon and Fabian have said, no one with the mark should have been able to get in. Before, there wasn't time to send word to anyone for help and afterwards we were too focused on George." She looked up to see Kingsley staring out the window with an uncomfortably confused expression. Wondering how deep his loyalties went and feeling her fury building, she pressed on. "Why are you here? What did he tell you?"
Sniffing, he crossed his arms but did not look at her. "He called us about ten minutes before we got here. Said there had been an attack at the Burrow. He wanted us to come and see if anyone had been hurt. He knows I've some healing magic and we could have called a healer if it was too bad."
"And why…" She stood and rounded on him now, but tried very hard to not take her suddenly burning rage out on him. It wasn't his fault Dumbledore was a foul, manipulative bastard. "Would he call the three of you and not Molly's brothers? Why wouldn't he send actual healers? There are five children living here for Merlin's sake! And who bloody told him about the attack? How did he know about it? It certainly begs a lot of questions, doesn't it."
"Now wait just a minute…" He held his hands out in front of himself, glaring down at her. "Are you accusing Dumbledore of orchestrating this whole thing? Are you mad? Why would he… how would he even… no. It's not possible."
"Ever since he met us he's been trying to get us to join the Order." Shaking her head in frustration, she turned her back on him. "We've refused… three times. He has outright called us cowards but he has no idea… What better way to try to convince us to join the fight than to hurt us like this?"
Kingsley started to say something else but was interrupted when Alastor barged back through the kitchen door and into the room. He looked George over with a grumble and a grimace. "I threw a portkey on the bodies, they'll be in the auror office. He looks terrible. Lucky the full moon's not for another few days." He headed back for the sitting room. "Come on Kings, let's get Frank. We need to report to Dumbledore before we head back to the Ministry."
With a final, speculative glance her way, Kingsley followed his partner from the room. Hermione was more certain than ever after what Kingsley had told her that Dumbledore was behind the attack. She was sure they'd find the wards altered as well when they looked. How he arranged for Death Eaters to attack she had no idea, but she didn't for one second imagine it beyond him.
"Oh George…" Sinking back into the seat beside him, Hermione dropped her head onto the table and took his hand again. She badly wanted to hear his voice, for him to tell her he was fine, but knowing he likely wouldn't get much rest that night, she refrained from waking him. Perhaps they should move him to the couch once the Order members left.
After a few minutes of muted chatter from the other room, she heard them file from the house and apparate away. Watching the rise and fall of George's chest as he slept, Hermione found herself beginning to drift off too. It was still early evening, hours left before bed, but she felt drained. It was a feeling she remembered well from her first time fighting a war and one she knew she'd not be escaping any time soon.
A warm hand on her shoulder stirred her from sleep some time later. Sitting up with a start, she looked up to see an apologetic Molly standing behind her.
"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to disturb you."
Swiping at her eyes, Hermione shook her head. "No. It's alright, Molly. I guess I fell asleep."
With a heavy sigh, Molly pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. Neither of them spoke at first, both watching George as he slept and ordering their own thoughts. Finally Hermione turned to her, still running her thumbs over the back of George's hand idly as she spoke.
"You have questions."
Molly watched their hands for a long moment before meeting Hermione's eyes with a serious curiosity.
"He didn't call you 'Helen' when he was delirious. Neither did Fabian come to think of it."
Somewhat surprised that she'd asked about her name first, Hermione blinked twice. "No. Helen was my mother's name. My name is Hermione."
She nodded. "So I gathered. Tell me, Hermione…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Why did your George look up at me in a moment of clarity and call me Mum? Why did he cry so pitiably for Fred and why…" Pausing again to catch her breath, she continued in almost a whisper. "Why, when I felt his magic, was it exactly the same as my little George upstairs? I know this man is my son, but… how is that possible? Who are you and how did you get here?"
Hermione hung her head, blinking away the sudden burning in her eyes. "I…" Her voice broke and she sighed. "I don't know yet if we're from another timeline, or your future but…" She looked over at George's face. "My George is your son."
Molly choked out a little sob but kept a hold of herself. "How? And where is Fred?"
Tears flowing freely now but not wanting to panic the other woman, she wiped at them in vain. "Fred, his Fred is dead."
"What?"
Hermione finally looked back at Molly. She'd paled and her eyes were wide and glassy.
"It nearly destroyed George. That's why…" She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes again. "That's why we're here. He got a hold of a time device. Since the end of our war the two of us had become rather close friends and I have some experience with time travel. When I figured out what he was doing I offered to help. We were going to try to save Fred. But something went wrong and we ended up twenty years too early."
Molly gasped a short breath and dabbed at her eyes. "Oh… my poor babies." Looking unsure what to do or say next but clearly wanting to comfort her son somehow, Molly wrung her hands. Knowing she sometimes had a propensity for smothering and remembering how hard it had been for George to be around her before they'd left, Hermione took one of her hands.
"Molly, I won't tell you to act like you don't know… not if you don't want to. But if you want to be his Mum too, if you want to comfort him, you have to treat him like an individual. Don't look at him and wonder about his Fred. You have your twins still, both of them. This George doesn't need to look into your eyes and know you're mourning his brother."
Her brows knitted in confusion, a few more tears slipped free. "Are you telling me how to… how to mother my own son?"
"Yes, I am." Letting go of the other woman's hand, she gestured to George's prone figure. "He might be your son, but you're not his Mum. Not really. You don't know him, the boy he was or the man he is. And the man has been through so much—too much..." Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Molly, we're stuck here. We can't get back to our own time and even if we could I don't think he'd want to. Here, even still without his brother, he has a purpose, something to work towards. I don't think I can properly explain how he was in the future but, I think… going forward it will be good for him to be around his family. He couldn't stand to be before. It was too sad, too painful. But none of that sorrow has touched you yet. You can love him and get to know him as the George he is now. If you can't do that though, if you can't separate him from his brother or the future we left, we'll finish what we've set out to do and then I'll take him abroad and we'll build a life somewhere else."
Taken aback, Molly looked into Hermione's eyes, searching and thoughtful. "You'd do anything to keep him safe and happy wouldn't you."
Taking his hand again and looking sadly at the new scars, she nodded. "He deserves it."

GH

He felt like he'd been kicked by a hippogriff. "Hermione…" He groaned and tried to roll over, stopping when his left shoulder exploded in pain, something keeping him from moving it. "Have you got any pain potion?"
"I'm sorry dear, I can't give you any more yet."
Blinking slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light, George frowned. "Mum? What… where's Hermione?"
"She's outside checking the wards with Fabian, dear."
"Oh… the wards." Digging his fingers into the familiar rough spun knit blanket beneath him on the sofa and trying to ignore the pain, he suddenly realized what she'd said. "Fabian? Uncle Fabian?"
"Yes, George."
Oh. Shite. That's right. He was in 1978. His uncles were alive, he'd been nearly killed by Greyback and his Mum wasn't supposed to be his Mum. Breathing heavily as he started to panic—shoulder throbbing in time with his racing heart—he looked at her guiltily.
"Ah… I mean.."
She rested a hand on his cheek and smiled sadly at him. "It's alright, George. Hermione and I talked earlier."
"She… she told you?" His eyes burned and his throat tightened as he tried to adjust to her seeing him for who he was. He wasn't sure he'd wanted that. If she looked at him the way she had before, like she saw Fred in his identical face and it killed her… he wouldn't be able to take that.
But when she looked at him, despite obvious pain, George knew that she only saw him.
"Oh sweetheart, she didn't have to."
Hot tears spilled from his eyes and he felt his face crumple. "Mum…"
When she leaned forward to hug him, fiercely even as she minded his shoulder, it felt like a long overdue balm on his aching heart.
His Mum had explained about the missing bones and helped him to choke down the skele-gro. It was every bit as disgusting as he remembered. After making sure he was comfortable and widening the sofa, she told him what Hermione had said. He got the feeling she left most of their conversation out, but Molly had impressed upon him how much Hermione obviously cared about him and his happiness.
"She didn't say anything about her own family or feelings, but I got the idea Hermione's been through just as much pain and suffering as you have." Seemingly uncomfortable thinking about what all that might mean, she sniffed and adjusted the blanket. "She told me you deserve to be happy, George, after everything. She'll do everything she can to make sure you are." Her smile was small but knowing when she finally met his eyes again. "I don't know how much of your relationship was your cover story or how you really feel about her—she mentioned that the two of you were good friends before you came here but… that young woman loves you."
Heat spread across his face at the turn the conversation had taken. He had been pretty confident of Hermione's feelings for him and he certainly knew how he felt, but discussing it with his Mum, no matter when, was strange. "I… I know she does. But it's so dangerous right now… if something happened to me… I don't want to do that to her, Mum."
She cut him off. "I know there's a war on and maybe it seems safer to wait but that's rubbish honestly. If Arthur and I had waited around for the war to end, neither you nor any of your brothers would have been born. Life still has to go on. Besides, anyone could die any old time war or no. It's silly to wait around for peace and safety when those things are always so fragile."
Swallowing thickly, she focused intently on her hands in her lap. "I know I'm not… I know I don't really know you, George or her or any of what you've been through but… The two of you are stuck here in the past together and I got the impression you're working on something, probably a dangerous something, but… just take care of her, George. Make sure you do everything you can to keep her safe and happy. She deserves it too." Her eyes were watery when she looked up again. "And if you do love her, grab hold of it. Love... always ends in tragedy, sweetheart. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a century but when it's real, it's always worth it."
She'd left then, and George had stared up at the ceiling and thought about what she had said as the beginnings of the bone regrowth discomfort set in. His Mum was right, because of course she was. He had already decided he wanted to do as she'd asked, but for some reason hearing it from her felt like permission. Like it was OK, imperative even to act on the feelings he'd been trying to suppress. And she was right about the war too. His Mum and Dad had lived for a decade under constant threat but it hadn't stopped them from living their lives, having children and loving each other and their family with everything they had.
The pain both he and Hermione had lived through following the end of the war had scarred them both. It had made them hyper aware of the potential suffering they risked by allowing themselves to form those kinds of powerful bonds again. Dropped back in the middle of another dangerous war they had decided to protect each other from that potential suffering.
But it was rubbish. There didn't need to be a war to lose someone you loved. And George did love her. Fred had understood. He'd known any of them might die and he'd gone to his death without regrets. Now George—having only narrowly escaped death himself—realized with the kind of clarity only such an experience could impart that had he died too, it would have been with great regret.
Groaning suddenly when the discomfort burst briefly into sharp agony, George looked down at his shoulder. It was horrifically scarred and strangely flaccid without the bones. The makeshift sling that kept his arm in place until all the bones were regrown felt secure as he tried to move his hand.
Sliding his other arm beneath himself and preparing for more pain, he pushed hard against the sofa and tried to swing his legs around. The pain was greater than he'd imagined and he fell back against the sofa with a pathetic, whimpering cry. Breathing hard, he contemplated trying again.
He had to find her. Now that he'd made up his mind to tell her how he felt, a sense of urgency spurred him on. But if he hurt himself again trying to get up she'd be furious with him. He huffed a tight laugh imagining her sparking hair as he tried again to sit up, much slower this time.
This time the pain was blinding. Gritting his teeth against it, he was forced to accept defeat. He wouldn't be moving from that spot until his bones had regrown and someone gave him an extra strength pain potion.
"Oh George."
Suddenly her hands were on him, tenderly caressing his face and then supporting him as he slid back to lie properly. He felt the immediate relief of her presence just like he always did and he could have laughed again when he realized what it meant. Instead, he allowed her to fret over him until his breathing had returned to normal and he unclenched his eyes to blink up at her.
"You bloody idiot. What were you trying to do?" She was nearly crying again as she looked him over. George, unable to do much else, reached up with his good hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears she couldn't keep back. "I'm so glad you're alright. I thought…" She sobbed and leaned into his touch, holding his hand to her face. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you too, George."
Pulling her against his chest and tucking her head under his chin, his hand threaded through her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm alright now, you and Mum fixed me up."
Her voice was so small and scared when she answered, her fingers brushing impossibly light along the worst of the scarring. "This time…"
"Don't…" He sighed. "We can't worry about 'next time,' Hermione. We can't live like that."
"I know but…"
"No, I mean it." Tilting his head to the side and ignoring the pain it caused, he looked down into her face. "I thought I could do it. I thought it would be for the best if we lived like that, if we waited until after it was all over and we were both alive to start living again. But I don't want to do that anymore. Hermione I…"
She'd all but stopped breathing as she waited for him to finish, watching him now like she knew exactly what he was going to say but unable to believe it.
"Hermione, I know Fred fancied you and maybe, maybe if he'd lived you could've been something. But he didn't, and maybe I shouldn't, but I love you Hermione."
She tried to smile but more tears slipped free and she pressed her face against his chest. "Oh, George. You can't, not yet. If something happens to me… I don't want you to go through that, not again."
Shifting, he tried to make her look at him again. "Look at me, Hermione, please?" When she did, he ran his thumb along her cheek and repeated what his Mum had told him. "Either of us might die tomorrow, but I don't want to live what's left of my life—a day or a century—not loving you just to save myself more heartache later." He let out a shaky laugh. "Besides, woman, can't you tell? It's already too late."
Reaching out with his magic, he felt along the edge of hers. It was wild with her current emotions, somewhere between joy and fear. But when she responded, he could feel it. Her magic met his and to him, it felt just like flying at dusk, when the heat of the day hadn't quite faded and the wind in his hair was heaven. And there, beneath it all was the humming of a magical soul bond. George didn't know how he hadn't noticed it sooner. It wasn't fully formed yet—it would take a marriage rite to seal completely—but it was already too late if she was worried about its loss utterly destroying him.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she relaxed against him. It was different from the bond he'd had with Fred. One born of a true and honest love and companionship rather than blood, but it was just as precious to him and had the potential to be just as powerful.
"George…"
Sliding a knuckle under her chin, he urged her closer until they were almost nose to nose. "If you're only holding back because you're afraid one of us might die… even if you tell me you don't love me and you walk away and we go on like this never happened, it would still kill me to lose you, Hermione."
All of a sudden one of her hands was in his hair, the other supporting herself against the back of the sofa and she was kissing him and he was so happy. He kissed her back, ignoring the now near constant throbbing in his shoulder and held her close as best as he could with one arm.
"George…" She pulled away and smiled down at him, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "I love you, too."