The Grass That Grows (Aftermath) post DH, slightly AU
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend.
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
May 4 1998, two days after the battle.
The bright spring sun nearly blinding her, Andromeda Tonks apparated to just outside the gate of the Weasley home. It was a beautiful day, a warm breeze whispering through fresh green leaves and the scent of apple blossoms on the air. Andromeda sighed. It was a day that seemed entirely inappropriate for a wake, particularly the wake of one so young.
As she joined the long line of mourners making its way towards the door of the Burrow, Andromeda noticed a small group of brightly dressed witches and wizards in one corner of the garden. The group huddled together drinking bottles of Butterbeer and chatting with an affability that seemed out of place amidst the somberly dressed crowd. With a pang, she remembered Nymphadora's bright pink hair at Albus Dumbledore's funeral not a year earlier. At the time she had been more than a bit annoyed with her daughter's lack of decorum, appearing at the funeral of the world's greatest wizard sporting pink hair. Now, as she watched these young people hover protectively around a lost-looking young man who must be George Weasley, Andromeda thought she understood the impulse. It must be impossible to be so young, so full of life and hope, and yet have to face the uncompromising horrors of war.
Andromeda paused for a moment, blinking as she passed into the dim interior of the Burrow. Arthur Weasley stood just inside the living room, greeting the guests with his eldest son–Bill, was it?–at his side. She remembered Arthur as a jovial man, bright eyed and impossibly energetic at times. Now he seemed to have aged ten years, at least, his shoulders slumped and deep lines of grief etched into his face. "Arthur, I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Andromeda, thank you for coming." Arthur's reply was warm and sincere as he took her hand. "And I wanted to say how sorry we all were to hear about Ted. He was a fine man, and he will be missed."
Andromeda felt her composure slip, the pain catching her unawares. Ted had died in the middle of the war, when most of the people they knew were either in hiding or laying low trying to avoid the notice of the Death Eaters. There was no time for a wake, no opportunity for her grief to be shared by anyone but her own, broken little family.
"Thank you," she managed past the sudden constriction in her throat. "Where is Molly? I wanted to—"
"She's in the kitchen, checking on the food." Arthur looked a bit uncomfortable. "Would you mind looking in on her, Andromeda? She's hardly had a moment's rest, taking care of all of us, bustling about getting ready for the wake. I'm afraid she's...well, she's not really... that is, she's keeping so busy so that she won't have to think..." his voice cracked as he looked away.
"I'll just go in and see if she needs a hand, then," Andromeda replied, her control restored. "You take care of yourself, Arthur." She clasped his hand warmly and nodded to Bill before moving towards to the kitchen.
Andromeda hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen. There were some conversations for which even a proper Black upbringing did not prepare one. Molly had been two years ahead of her at Hogwarts. The age difference coupled with the centuries-old antagonism between Slytherin and Gryffindor meant that they had never been close. Other than exchanging an occasional hello while shopping at Diagon Alley, she hadn't spoken to Molly since Nymphadora had been at school with Charlie Weasley. What do you say to a woman you barely know who has just lost a child?
Still, Gryffindors did not have a monopoly on courage, despite their own posturing to the contrary. 'A tendency towards needless self-sacrifice coupled with a stubborn disregard for common sense, perhaps' she mused, thinking of her son-in-law. A sudden crash from the kitchen startled her out of her reverie and propelled her through the door.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Molly Weasley exclaimed as she looked down at a puddle of soup and broken crockery on the floor.
With a practiced flick of her wand and a muttered evanesco followed by a quick reparo, Andromeda cleared up the remains of the soup and repaired the tureen. Molly stared for a moment, as if not really understanding what she was seeing, then began bustling about the kitchen again, not meeting Andromeda's eye.
"Don't mind me, I'm just making sure there's enough food for everyone... so many people have come... I don't know where we'll put everyone; it's not like the wedding when we had so much time to prepare... I'm sure we won't have enough sandwiches..."
Andromeda interrupted Molly's rambling, "Now, Molly, what can I do to help? Let me take that." Relieving Molly of her tray of sandwiches, which probably held enough to feed twice the number of people at the Burrow, she added, "You sit down, dear. I know my way around a kitchen well enough to be of some service here."
"Oh, yes, of course, thank you, Andromeda.," Molly answered vaguely, still not looking at her.
Andromeda set the tray on the counter and placed the kettle on the stove. Molly sat at the table, staring out into space and wringing her hands.
"I'm sorry!" she suddenly cried out.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," Molly repeated.
Andromeda was mystified. "What in Merlin's name for?"
"For Bellatrix. I killed your sister," she added softly. Molly was now looking at her, grief and guilt etched in equal measures on her face.
Numbly, Andromeda sat down at the table next to Molly, wondering what she could say that would even begin to untangle the complex emotions that overwhelmed her whenever she thought about Bellatrix. She stared out of the window, remembering.
"I had a sister once. She would bring me flowers in the spring and ask me to braid them into her hair. She crept into my room in the winter months, and we would burrow under the quilts together to keep warm.
"That sister died a long time ago, Molly."
Andromeda clasped Molly's hand where it lay on the table, noticing at once how cold and frail it felt. She remembered those first few weeks after Ted's death, and how she didn't think she would ever feel warm again.
"Bellatrix Lestrange tried to destroy my family. My daughter. The man whom I've come to think of as a son. My grandson." Her voice broke as she found herself overwhelmed by how much more she might have lost. With how much the woman before her had lost. "You did the world a favor, Molly. You did what was necessary."
Molly sobbed once, then nodded gratefully. Andromeda patted her hand and then stood to make the tea. "Go in and join your family, Molly. They need you now, and you need them. I can handle things in here."
"Thank you, Andromeda."
It was rather late when Andromeda returned to the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Poppy Pomfrey started up out of the chair where she had been dozing and, seeing who it was, simply waived her towards the small private room at the end of the ward. With the restrictions against werewolves still in place, it was impractical for Remus to be moved to St. Mungo's. Dora was curled asleep next to him in his hospital bed, one arm draped over the edge where Teddy slept in a bassinet. Andromeda brushed the hair back from her daughter's bandaged forehead, silently kissed her good night, then turned to make her way home.
