He stood quietly in the garden, gazing up at the house that rose up like a child's awkward pile of blocks. Comfort. Understanding. Welcome. The Burrow had meant all of those things to Remus during some of the darkest moments of his life. No matter how thin the Weasley's wallets, no matter how far the family had drifted from the regard of the wizarding world, from the center of power and the respect of others, Molly and Arthur never closed their door to Remus. To a werewolf. A pauper. The last survivor of the Marauders, of James and Lily's friends.
Last year, at Hogwarts, had been a true gift. A time for healing, for the renewal of friendships long dissolved. Remus had clutched each moment with his colleagues, each meal taken with bright young witches and wizards and old friends around him, and each galleon added to his dismal savings with joy and gratitude. Dumbledore had granted Remus so many unlooked-for treasures, including each moment he'd been able to spend with Harry.
The fact that Remus had been given Sirius back – innocent, free – still took Remus' breath away.
He laid one hand against his chest, pressing the letter he kept in an inside pocket against his thin shirt, convincing himself, again, that it was real. Sirius had written before, but this letter was different. Rushed. Scrawled in a still trembling, but recognizable hand, using words and revealing attitudes that Remus knew from long ago. Sirius was healing, had enjoyed the rest, good food, and free air of the remote vacation Dumbledore had sent him on. But, at his heart, Sirius would always be a Marauder – the staunchest supporter of James and his son, fiercely protective, courageous, and self-sacrificing.
And Remus would always be the one to stand between Sirius and his worst Gryffindor impulsiveness. With Molly and Arthur to help him, Sirius back from the dead, and his own new-found confidence, Remus was ready to step back into Harry's life, into wizarding society. At least as far as each would let him.
His smile growing, Remus stepped towards the Weasley's door. His presence would have already started Molly's formidable wards jangling, alerting her to his identity. She'd have been quick to set another place at the table and Floo-called Arthur to make sure he was coming home from work on time. Barely ten years older than Remus and the other Marauders, the two had acted more like parents than friends for years. With the sorry state of most of his friends' birth-families, none of them had minded a bit.
"It's about time you came in." Molly greeted Remus with her usual combination of concern, affection, and assessment. She grabbed him by the arms and looked him up and down before gathering Remus into a quick hug. "I thought you were going to stand out there in the garden until you put down roots!"
"Just admiring the view," he answered, dropping into his usual chair at the table. It was useless to ask if she needed help, of course. Even without most of her large brood in attendance, Molly would refuse. Remus had learned not to ask.
He counted the place settings. Molly, Arthur, Remus, and Percy he had expected. But there were two more. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were already expecting guests."
"Guests," Molly snorted. "Bill and Charlie aren't exactly guests, Remus. And they'll thank their lucky stars if they remember to show up on time and with clean robes for once in their lives." She'd raised her voice on the last sentence as if her two oldest children were upstairs.
Remus tilted his head, but his extra senses didn't detect a whiff of any other presence but their own. "Are they Flooing in for any particular occasion?"
Busy at the stove, Molly shook her head. "In the country at the same time is a miracle in and of itself, so I suppose you could call it an occasion." She turned, both hands on her hips. "Your visit will make it a bit of a party for all of us."
Tucking his chin, Remus felt his cheeks grow warm. The Floo chiming kept him from embarrassing himself.
"I'm going to be late, mom, don't wait dinner for me."
Molly had already been hustling towards the fireplace before Percy's voice rang out.
"Again? Percy you are working far too many hours for it to be healthy." She bore down on her son's disembodied head like a mother dragon. "This is every night this week! And we have a guest!"
Percy lifted his chin, arrogant, defiant – which looked odd without a neck and body attached. "It can't be helped, mom. Mister Crouch needs all hands on deck while we prepare for Halloween. He's traveling again, trying to tie up loose ends with Durmstrang, and he expects me to be here and deal with issues as they come up. It's a complex and rather perilous diplomatic situation, you must admit."
Molly growled and then flicked her wand towards the kitchen. "Hold on, then. I'm not letting you go without dinner at a reasonable hour one more night." Behind her, meat, potatoes, veggies, and rolls gathered themselves into a large napkin which folded itself up, tucked in the edges, and tied itself in a knot.
"Mother, really –"
"Here." Molly conjured the napkin in front of her son. "Come on, now. It's your favorite," she wheedled, "roast, roasted potatoes, my homemade rolls."
"Fine." Remus heard the eye-roll from across the room. Percy grabbed the heavy napkin with his teeth and vanished before his mother could insist on him taking dessert along with him.
"That boy," Molly muttered, making her way back to Remus' side. She laid one hand on his shoulder. "I'm proud of him, of course, but I tell you, Remus, sometimes I wish some of Fred and George's sense of fun and adventure could be siphoned from the twins and directly into Percy's spirit."
"They wouldn't miss it," he replied, smiling up at her and patting her hand. "Sometimes James felt the same way about me and Sirius."
Molly shook her head in mock disapproval. "If anyone was ill-named it was that boy," she laughed. "Sirius. I mean, really. I knew Walpurga was deeply devoted to her coven's reverence for the zodiac, but naming her children after stars," she clucked her tongue. "She'd have been better off picking Cosmo or Pluto."
Remus chuckled. "Well, Pluto would have been a dead giveaway for his animagus form, at least."
Molly frowned down at him.
"Oh," Remus tapped himself on the forehead for forgetting, "it's a muggle thing. In some of their moving stories, Pluto is a faithful dog companion to the hero."
Hustling back to the stove, Molly laughed. "Something else to tell Arthur about. I swear, you two should arrange a trip to the muggle world. A week or two, just the two of you. While it's a shame you felt you had to leave us and go live among the muggles after – well, after the worst of it," her voice took on a sorrowful tone, "I'm sure it did you good. And Arthur could get some of his curiosity satisfied." Her wand made short work of slicing the mushrooms for the sauce. "Merlin knows I'd relish the quiet around here. A week, all to myself!" She laughed. "Imagine the trouble I could get in."
"Imagine the trouble we could get in," Remus responded. Dragging Arthur through muggle London pubs and museums, riding around on the tube, keeping him from buying up all the souvenirs he came across and diplomatically Obliviating the poor unsuspecting folks Arthur couldn't help himself from talking to – it did sound like fun. "Sirius would love it," he whispered.
Mushrooms and shallots sautéing in the pan, Molly turned, leaning against her countertop. "We've been kicking ourselves for months, Remus, Arthur and me. Going back over it in our minds, trying to remember why we believed it could be Sirius who betrayed them. Why we wrote him off so quickly and easily. Never questioned why there was no trial, no Veritaserum, no proper investigation." She rubbed her arms. "To find out we'd been giving sanctuary to that rat, that evil –"
Magic swirled through the kitchen, rattling the pots and pans on their hooks, making the fire blaze up under the pan. She gathered it back without a thought, as if she'd grown used to her magic flaring up.
"You're not the only one." Remus rose and slid one arm around Molly's shoulders. "I was his best friend – after James." Those days, after James and Lily – after Voldemort – when the worst of the war was over and the rest of the world was taking in its first deep breath of fresh air in countless years, Remus had been barely able to think. To function. The wounds of his body had been nothing compared to his shattered soul. He'd been grateful that the other members of the Order had bundled him off to the continent to heal, away from the questions and demands and insufferable curiosity of the press and the ministry. He'd stayed in seclusion for years afterwards, living with muggles, earning a living giving private lessons, locking himself away every full moon. He'd refused all contact with the others – not just Molly and Arthur, but Filius, Minerva, Augusta, and Albus. He didn't want to look in their eyes and see the doubt, the suspicion. If Sirius Black, gifted Auror, stalwart opponent of dark wizards, out-spoken enemy of evil, could have masked his own internal darkness from Remus, from the other Marauders, what could a werewolf like him be hiding?
"I'm glad you came, Remus. It's past time we had a talk, past time for the old gang to get back together and compare notes." Molly, one arm looped around his waist, squeezed tight. "Raising seven children took up all of our attention for a long time and I've not have it any other way. But," she lifted her wand, her magic swirling around it, red and gold, brightening to a nearly unbearable glow, heating the air, "we were not given our gifts to have them sit, unused, wasted, on the mantelpiece while our friends and allies sit, unmourned, abandoned, in prison. Or in a terrible muggle home, lonely and despairing."
Remus raised his own wand in the familiar gesture, relishing the rush of power as the two wands touched, magic bursting brighter as the wands recognized each other. Molly was right. It shouldn't have taken Sirius' release, his letter, to give Remus a reason to call the Order, to reach out to Molly and Arthur and the others. To clear his head and try to mend his heart.
"We took oaths once," Remus said. "Oaths to fight evil. To stand against the darkness." Their linked magic beat an agreement with every statement. "Oaths to the Light." He closed his eyes, letting the memories and magic fill him, outside in and inside out, to the outer surface of his skin and down to the depths of his being. "None of those oaths mentioned allowing a child to fight our battles and waiting on the sidelines to pick him up when he fell."
Beside him, Molly shivered. They allowed their magics to mingle for a few more seconds before unlinking. Their wands separated with a sad whine.
"I can't imagine James or Lily's reactions to our actions – our lack of actions, Remus."
"They would not be kind," he agreed. "We wouldn't deserve it if they were."
