Seeking Permission
The holy silence of the cemetery was broken only briefly by a faint pop. A cloaked figure walked softly past the muted gravestones that stood like lonely sentinels. The January wind rustled her cloak and scattered the snow across the freshly shoveled walk. The woman slowed, stooping to make out the icy names etched into the cold granite faces. She finally stopped before an unassuming grave; brushing the snow off lightly with a gloved hand, she allowed her fingers to trace the two names. Her fingers stopped over the matching dates: October 31, 1981. From beneath her cloak she drew out a simple bouquet of yellow and red mums, which glowed like fire against the newly fallen snow.
Kneeling on the frozen ground, the women pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing tousled red hair streaked with gray.
"I know we never met," she said quietly, her voice scratching in the chilly air. "But you knew my brothers, and perhaps they mentioned me before they died." She paused, wondering if she was going crazy, sitting in the snow and speaking to dead people. "And I know your son. I don't know if, wherever you are, you can watch him, but you should be proud of him; I know I am. He's become a great man, even if he's been forced to become a man before his time. He saved my husband's life just last month, and in his second year, he saved my only daughter; he almost died saving her. He knows nothing of selfishness. I owe him more than I can ever repay." The woman heaved a quiet sigh, wiping away tear drops before they could freeze on her eyelashes. "And you two will forever be his parents. He knows how much you loved him- what you gave up for him. And I would never want to take that away from you, but I feel the only way I can repay him is with the love of a mother. I can't just call him the best mate of my youngest son. He's become so much more to me; ever since I found him standing in my kitchen one August morning, looking half starved and immensely guilty for something he hadn't done. Since then I've watched him grow into a competent young man. Every time I see him, I can't help but think of you both. It isn't just that he looks like you, or at least Sirius and Remus say he does, but it's that he's so like you both in his actions and beliefs. And I don't understand how that happened, since his childhood was tragic. I suppose the credit must go to you two and those few precious love filled years you gave him. I certainly don't want to the credit, that's not what I'm asking. I'm seeking, I suppose, your permission to let me love him as a son, as an equal to my own children."
She paused as the wind raced past again, rattling the branches on the leafless trees. Pulling her cloak tighter, she was amazed to see a little sparrow land in front of her. It cocked its head at her before pecking at the flowers she had just brought. Snapping off one of the mums, it grasped it in its beak before taking flight again.
Not one to ignore signs, Molly Weasley stood up, brushing the snow off her legs. "Thank you," she whispered to the grave as she pulled her hood back over her head. "I promise I'll do my best to protect and love him as a son."
A/N: This was written quite a while ago and I found it while sifting through some of my old story notes. It was just a little plot bunny that attacked me one night, if I remember correctly. Anyway, I know its short and sort of stream-of-consciousness like, but leave a review if you have something to say. Happy Holidays.