"No." George cracked a dead smile. "That night, she didn't touch us, and there were some people who wanted us, but she wouldn't let them. Said she can't stand redheads and likes Weasleys even less, but she didn't like sharing what was hers. That changed later, but I guess for that one night we were granted one tiny miracle there. That's how I felt for a few minutes. Relief, as people were being assaulted around me. She saw that, and I think she couldn't stand that. So she had Fred and I wait on her all night. Feed her, give her drinks, take off her shoes when she wanted to be barefoot. The whole time, she talked about how most of our family and friends were dead or missing. We tried not to let it bother us, but it was hard. She talked a lot about you. She hadn't seen you or Draco in years, and neither had we, for that matter, but she loved to talk about the many ways in which he'd probably already killed you, and if it wasn't that she painted a very vivid picture of you all chained up in a dungeon somewhere, raped and beaten and inches from death."