"He's not James."
She bites off the words, spitting them with quiet venom, hoping the lesson will hit home. She doubts it will, though. Sirius Black is a reckless, impulsive fool - one who's bound and determined to destroy that boy.
"I know," he barks, proving her correct, "but thanks awfully for the insightful lecture." His eyes glitter with rage - too sharp, too dangerous, especially without Remus by his side to soothe him.
"You just called him James," Molly states calmly, although something warns her not to enrage him. "You just called him James to my face, and doesn't that just prove you're not fit - "
"Unfit, Molly? If you've got something to say, get to the point."
His eyes are boring holes into her. A vein throbs in his temple.
"He's not your best friend, he's your godson, and if you think otherwise it's - it's - " he doesn't understand, this stupid half-grown man, he doesn't understand that he could murder Harry with his insanity, his obsessive love for a dead man, his inability to accept that he's only seeing what he wants to see, his -
"It's what?" he sneers, his voice rasping and low. Childish fury is carved into his face, engraved deeply in every line, and she knows that he will loathe her till the day he dies. It is not in Sirius Black to forget.
She lifts her chin defiantly anyway, meeting his brittle gaze coolly.
"It's madness," she snaps as she turns away in searing disgust.
x
Is he late on purpose just to vex her? she wonders, in half-frustration, half-amusement. Doesn't he know how she frets, even in their midst of victory?
Honestly, it's eight-thirty and he's pushing open the Burrow door now, smiling sheepishly at her as if that is enough to buy his forgiveness. Any moment now he'll produce a bouquet of dying roses and proclaim his undying affection for her in a misguided attempt to charm his way out of trouble.
There he is now, scurrying towards her with that smirk plastered across his handsome face. He's reaching for his wand and oh, she knows him so well. She's his mother - does he truly believe he can slip past her?
"Don't be ridiculous, Fred," she admonishes, embracing him tightly despite her annoyance.
He stiffens abruptly as she holds him, shaking her hands off sharply. Yet his voice is excruciatingly gentle as he whispers, "I'm George, Mum, remember?"
She stumbles backwards, adopting a harsher tone, her face burning. "Don't be ludicrous - I know." [And the irony is so thick, she's drowning in it]
x
Somewhere, she knows, God is laughing.
