Scattered

Ron let out a frustrated groan. "She doesn't know anything?"

Hermione shook her head. "Parvati says Fred found her this morning and brought her here. He didn't tell her anything, just that he was bringing her somewhere safe. She could tell he'd been injured and she... she was pretty weak, I think, herself. She was just so glad to see someone."

He frowned. "I don't understand. Where's she been all this time?" he asked sharply.

Hermione took his hand and pulled him over to a window seat. They were alone in the dark hallway outside the castle infirmary. Arthur had side-along Apparated Fred there, almost immediately, and everyone else had followed... only to be shut out with a firm word from their old school nurse, who allowed only Molly and Arthur to stay.

Fred had, it seemed, used the last bit of his strength to send his Patronus to the island; weak as the spell had been, it had fallen short of its destination. Luckily, Amos Diggory had seen a glimmer of something just before the spell faded out and gone for help. He, Arthur and Molly brought Fred and Parvati to the island, where Fred had promptly lost consciousness, before uttering even a single word.

Ron had been pacing outside the Infirmary for the past hour, frustrated and scared. Bill and Charlie had stayed with him for awhile, leaving only when their mother had emerged and told them that Fred was still out cold but fine. They'd taken her downstairs to force her to eat some chocolate; Ron remembered his mother's pale, ashen face and was glad that his brothers were taking care of her. Percy was with Penny and the baby, and Hermione -- he hadn't known where she'd been, and he'd been wishing she was there with him badly. If anything, it seemed, being married to Hermione made him need her even more, so that the sight of her when she finally arrived brought him no small amount of comfort. He took a deep breath and pulled her close, up against his body, feeling her warmth like a balm to his nerves.

"What's wrong with Parvati?" he asked in a much quieter tone.

"Well, she's apparently been alone all these months, in her parents' house," Hermione said. "The morning Professor Dumbledore died, her mum and dad had already left for work. Fred showed up first, for Padma, and they left. And then... she just waited. And waited, and no one ever came. Her parents never came home," she whispered sadly, "and outside, in the streets, the Death Eaters started... attacking people. She went out on her own once, to Diagon Alley, for supplies. She bought a few things, some replenishing food; she used the galleons her parents always kept hidden in their sock drawer, their emergency money, she said. She cried when she said that."

Ron kissed the top of her head. "Poor kid," he said sympathetically.

Hermione took a deep breath and continued, her voice shaking, "But then she got scared. She saw... she saw a boy get attacked. She didn't see who it was, but he was young... She said it was horrible... he must have been a Muggle-born because they didn't stop. They kept going. They killed him."

"Hermione," he murmured into her hair. "Shhh."

"She said they kept hitting him with their fists, not even using magic at first. And then spells, cutting spells, painful spells... and then finally, when they got bored of it, they... they cast the Avada Kedavra, and then they just walked away."

"Shhh."

"It was in the middle of the street, Ron. Broad daylight. People everywhere. No one stopped them. No one even paused. Parvati said... she said... after they left, maybe five minutes later, people came out of their shops. Without a word, they moved his body away, and then everyone went back to work."

"It must have been awful," Ron said.

Hermione took a deep breath and sat up, not pulling away from him necessarily but centering herself, he knew, getting herself under control again. She needed to feel strong all on her own; it would never be enough for her that he would gladly be strong for both of them, always. She needed to know that she could take care of herself and no matter how much a part of him wanted to do it for her, he understood.

"It's so easy to forget, isn't it?" she asked him finally. "What it's like out there. We didn't see it. We were safe. What happened to Neville was awful, but while we were hiding and running, even worse than that was happening to people all over Britain."

Ron lifted her chin so that her eyes were forced to meet his. "I'm not going to sit here and let you feel guilty for being alive." She tried to look away. "I mean it. We would have died, Hermione, if we'd tried to fight them then, just a full-out battle, out in the streets, outnumbered, everyone panicked. We would have died and our deaths wouldn't have made the people who suffered any better off. We went away so we could survive, and so that when we do go back -- and we will go back -- we'll win."

She lifted his fingers gently from her chin and linked their hands together in her lap. "I know. I know, Ron. We did what we had to do and we're going to stop this tyranny, I know it. And when we do, that won't bring back those people either... but it'll save the ones yet to come." She smiled sadly. "It's just survivor's guilt, I know that. I think I just feel it so strongly because, well, the world ended, and all of my dreams came true, right at the same time." He smiled back and squeezed her hand. "It just seems as if I've been too lucky, sometimes."

Ron kissed her forehead. "I'm the lucky one, love."

The door to the Infirmary opened suddenly, startling them both. Madame Pomfrey looked as stern as ever, but Ron thought he detected a hint of relief on her face as well. "Your brother's awake, Ronald," she said. "Your father asked me to bring you in, if you were still out here."

Ron stood, Hermione's hand still firmly in his own.

"May I go in as well?" Hermione asked.

Pomfrey frowned. "I don't know, dear, we don't want to crowd the patient. Perhaps come back tomorrow, when he's had more time to rest?"

"Of course," Hermione murmured, moving to turn away.

"Rubbish," Ron interjected. "You're coming in."

The nurse hesitated but smiled, relenting. "Of course." She stopped them once more, though, just as Ron was reaching to open the door. "He is very weak, however, and somewhat angry, and depressed. Be prepared. Be patient."

Ron nodded his thanks and opened the door for Hermione, following behind closely.

The Infirmary was well-lit and perfectly kept, as always. Fred occupied the lone bed, with their father seated in a chair beside him. Ron gestured for Hermione to sit in the other chair and stood behind her.

"Hello, Fred," she said, smiling gently.

Ron studied his brother carefully. Pomfrey had, apparently, healed the cuts and set the bruises on his face and arms to healing; they were a sickly yellow and black hue right now, past purpling. Fred had bandages wrapped around his waist, his shirt left unbuttoned, and a salve had been smeared on his chest. He looked better than when they'd dragged him upstairs, absolutely, but he still looked a mess. Ron tried not to let it show on his face, how hard it was, still, to see his brother so changed. "You look better," he said finally.

Fred coughed a little, then grimaced in pain. "Pomfrey's always known how to fix me up. Says the broken ribs'll take a few more hours to heal, though."

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked.

"Got attacked. Not Death Eaters," he said, "just a couple of wizards. Beat me up a bit, and took what money I had left and my pack, though it was mostly empty by then."

Ron frowned. "Why'd they do that?"

"Well, gee, Ronniekins, I guess the bad wizards were hoping I had some cash to fork over. When it turned out I didn't, they got angry and used their fists and wands. That explain it simple enough for you?"

Ron blanched a bit at his brother's tone. The words weren't the problem; Fred and George had said far worse to him, practically since the day he was born and all through school. They'd only been joking then, though, having a bit of fun at his expense. When they called him slow or stupid, or made fun of him, it was just a laugh to them, nothing serious. Now, though, Fred was looking at him as if he was dumber than a dung beetle, his tone scathing.

Their father sighed but didn't comment. He looked exhausted, Ron saw, the wrinkles and dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced than ever. "Why are you sure that they weren't Death Eaters?" he asked Fred carefully.

"I was in a part of town they don't go into. A bad part," he clarified. "Not all of the scum of the magical world sided with Voldemort, you know. Some of them resent the way things have changed, that they can't do business the way they used to. So there are places, you know, where these types hang out, places they do their deals, places they can't be seen... anyhow, I was there trying to get some information, that's all."

"It's good that they didn't... hurt you worse," Hermione said, and Ron heard the slight tremble in her voice and knew she was thinking of the boy Parvati had seen.

Fred looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he agreed, sounding unconvinced; sounding, Ron thought, sorry that it hadn't been worse, actually sorry that he'd escaped with his life.

"Did you get what you were looking for?" Arthur asked, his hand resting on his son's shoulder.

Fred turned to stare at him and, finally, he nodded.

His father took a sharp breath. "Is he alive?"

Fred nodded again.

Ron felt as if a band of tension in his chest had suddenly snapped open, freeing him to breathe deeply once more. He gripped Hermione's shoulders fiercely; her hands came up to cover his.

Arthur hadn't moved. He simply studied Fred's face and said, "Tell us."

Fred nodded a third time and for a moment held still; then, just when Ron had begun to wonder if he would speak to them again at all, he began, "When I left here I went back to the Burrow, first. Or what used to be the Burrow. I thought George might be there, somehow. We had... we had some hiding places, out in the yard, and there was the old shed back behind the trees, I kept thinking of him hiding there, waiting for us. But... there is no 'there'. There's no Burrow. There's no trees, even, where there used to be, no rubble, no leftover bits. It's just gone, like it never was there."

Hermione squeezed his hands and Ron quickly squeezed back. She knew how losing the Burrow had affected him, but he'd made his peace with it already, and though it hurt to hear that it was gone, it actually felt better to know that it had been cleared away, not left in a pile of rubble. That was something that had just seemed unbearably unfair to him, all along, the image of his family home left to rot in pieces. At least someone had cared enough to clear the land and take the ruins away.

"So then I figured, that's still the last place I saw George. I'll retrace his steps, then, go where he went from there. I knew right where to go first, too. He was supposed to pick up Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. I figured I'd start with the Browns; he wasn't at the Patils' that morning, when I was there. He must have picked up Lavender first.

"But when I got there, the Browns were all still there. Lavender, her little sister, her parents. They were living in their house, coming and going like nothing had ever happened. Like Voldemort hadn't taken over, like the school wasn't destroyed. The parents still went into work every day and Lavender was definitely there, inside the house. I watched them for days, trying to figure it out, and then finally, one night, I snuck around to the room I knew was hers and tapped on the window. Took a fair bit to wake her up, and she screamed. People came running, lights went on. I ran away.

"Had to go back, though. I tried everything else I could think of, but I didn't have any other leads. So a few weeks later, I left a note on her window. Just the word 'Gryffindor' on a piece of paper. I didn't try to wake her up. I just watched the next day, and saw her find it. And I waited -- waited for her to tell someone, for them to start searching for me. But they didn't. And that night, I knocked on her window again. This time, she didn't scream and she talked to me."

Fred stopped and coughed painfully, holding his side and trying not to move too much. Hermione stood and swiftly summoned a glass of water; Ron, as always, marveled that she could do that without spilling a single drop.

"Here," she said, helping Fred to drink, holding the glass for him. "Stop talking for a second and drink a little. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I need to tell--"

"She's right," Arthur said, a faint, anxious smile on his face. "Slow and steady, son."

Fred nodded and took a few more sips of water. Hermione stepped away when he'd finished, returning to her chair. "Thank you," he told her.

She nodded but said nothing.

Fred looked at Ron, a strange expression on his face. "When you were dating her, did Lavender ever talk to you about her family?" he asked.

Ron shook his head. "No, she, um, didn't talk about anything... important." Irrationally, he knew, he felt embarrassed. He hadn't even known that she had a little sister.

"She told Parvati that they weren't entirely supportive of Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. "They didn't support Voldemort, they weren't Death Eaters themselves... but they were on the fence."

Fred frowned, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"Lavender and Parvati were my roommates at school."

"Oh." He rubbed his forehead. "I forgot.... that's right."

Ron could see that Fred was losing strength again; when Pomfrey came back in, she'd shoo them all out for sure. For once he thought she might be right. Fred clearly needed rest.

"George did show up at the Browns' house that morning," Fred continued finally. "He explained everything to them. They seemed stunned, she said, but agreed. They sent Lavender upstairs to pack her things. When she came back downstairs, though, George was... George was tied to a chair in the dining room, she said. Her father was holding his wand. And a strange man was there, holding a wand to George's forehead. She didn't recognize him, but her father called him 'Macnair'. Lavender tried to argue with them but a few moments later, Macnair just... Apparated out of there, taking George with them. And it was over."

Fred looked at Hermione first, then Ron. "She knew her parents weren't members of the Order, of course, but she told me she'd had no idea that they'd turn one of us over... I asked her if she wanted to come with me," he told them, "and told her I'd bring her to safety. I didn't tell her where, just that she'd be okay there, that she could bring her little sister too. But she said she couldn't leave her parents. She hated what they'd done, but she still loved them. Merlin, that poor kid."

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "That's the information you needed, then, wasn't it? Where they're keeping George."

Fred nodded, his eyes barely open now. "I had to make sure... he was still alive. Found a guy... who knows a guy... who works in the kitchens at the Ministry...they have a lot of fancy dinner parties there now, I guess. Got my guy to talk to him, tell him what I wanted to know... over a month went by, I didn't hear anything... finally, I get word I should show up at this place, and he'll meet me there. He had a picture of George, Dad. He wouldn't let me keep it, he burned it up at the table. But it's him. They've got him, Dad, oh, Merlin, he was in this tiny cell, and they've hurt him but... he's alive."

Ron saw his father's shoulders shake, saw him clutch Fred's hand between his own. "We'll get him back, son," he said, his voice ragged and shot through with pain. "I promise, we'll do it."

"That's why I came home, so I could tell you and we could go get him... I went to the Patil place first, got Parvati... brought her here. Padma asked... I brought her..."

Fred drifted off to sleep, his last words an indecipherable mumble. Hermione stood and covered him carefully with a light blanket and then left, saying she was going to get Madame Pomfrey and let her know Fred was resting now.

Ron stood where she'd left him, hope and fear and anger warring through him. Hope, because George was alive; fear, because they were holding him captive and torturing him; and anger, that the Browns had done this to him, to his family, to his brother, to their own children as well.

He was still standing there mutely when he felt his father's hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the door. "Dad..."

"We're going to get your brothers, and Ginny and your mother," he said, "and we're going to tell them that George is still alive. That we can still bring him home. And then we're going to find Remus and Harry and Amos and the Aurors, and start figuring out how."

"Dad --"

"Don't worry," Arthur told his youngest son. "We're ready."