31 August 1995
The hum of laughter and chatter ebbed and flowed through the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Remus excused himself from the conversation he was having with Hermione about elf rights under the pretext of refilling his plate, but instead, he made a beeline for where Sirius was rummaging through the liquor cabinet for a new bottle of Firewhisky.
"Sirius," Remus hissed, coming up behind Sirius and reaching up to shut the cabinet. "Slow down, will you? You already drank most of the last one."
"Oh, relax," Sirius said—and it was only because he knew his friend so well that Remus was able to hear the slight slur in his words. "It's a party!"
"For two fifteen-year-old prefects," Remus reminded him pointedly. "And it's winding down, if you haven't noticed."
"You know, Remus," Sirius said, shaking his head, "I spent twenty-two years saying it, and I can only imagine it'll be twenty-two more of the same thing—you worry too much." Grinning, Sirius poured two generous servings of whisky into scotch glasses and handed one to Remus. "Cheers."
Remus rolled his eyes but accepted the glass nonetheless.
"Got one for me too, Sirius?"
Remus looked around. Kingsley had just rinsed his plate in the nearby sink and strolled up to them, smiling.
"Of course, Mr. Shackebolt," Sirius said cheerfully, pouring a third glass and sliding it down the counter. Kingsley accepted it with a gracious nod.
"Everything all right in the Auror Office, Kingsley?" Remus asked, remembering something Tonks had told him a few weeks earlier about Scrimgeour seeming suspicious.
"Mostly," Kingsley nodded. "We've moved your search from Tibet to Mongolia, Sirius."
"Excellent," Sirius grinned. "I'm sure I'm having a spanking good time over there."
Kingsley shook his head, chuckling. Then, glancing around, he lowered his voice slightly. "I've been meaning to ask you both about this, but—well, do either you have any idea why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?"
Immediately, Remus saw Sirius's fleeting good mood vanish into a shadow of bitterness, and for a moment, Remus wanted to kick Kingsley.
"He'll have had his reasons," Remus said shortly, gazing at Sirius, whose expression was growing stonier by the second.
"But it would've shown confidence in him," Kingsley said in his deep voice, frowning. "It's what I'd've done—especially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days."
Remus knew Kingsley was right. He had taught both Harry and Ron, and while Ron was—by all accounts—loyal, brave, strong, and hilarious, Harry was the obvious choice for prefect. However, there had to be a reason Dumbledore hadn't picked him, and it did Harry—nor themselves—any favors to dwell on this reason. Remus watched with a sinking stomach as Sirius drained his Firewhisky in one and snatched up the bottle to pour himself a new glass.
"Uh oh…"
Remus looked around. Kingsley was eyeing the corner of the kitchen where Moody and Harry were sitting. Moody was showing Harry something—a parchment or a photograph—and Harry was nodding politely, though something in his expression looked uneasy, even upset.
"What's he showing him?" Remus asked, frowning.
"Don't know, but he doesn't look too chuffed about it," Kingsley said in a low voice.
"I'll go see what's going on," Remus said, setting down his glass—but Sirius was way ahead of him. In a flash, he had crossed the kitchen to Moody and slid between him and Harry, bending down to get a look at the mysterious artifact in Moody's hands. Remus watched as Harry, seizing the lapse in Moody's attention, immediately turned and slipped out of the kitchen.
Remus stared in the direction Harry had disappeared for several moments. Then, muttering a quick apology to Kingsley, he hurried over to join Sirius and Moody.
"What's going on?" he murmured, glancing at the basement stairs. Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Moody held up the item he'd been showing Harry, and Remus's heart gave a jolt of recognition at the wrinkled, old photograph.
"Found this in my attic last night," Moody grunted, his grizzled face twisting into a smile. "Took it in the Boneses' sitting room, fourteen years ago. Remember?"
How could Remus forget? It had been the last time they'd all been in one room together. Immediately, Remus's eyes found Lily and James, who were beaming and waving at the camera, completely unaware of how abruptly their lives were about to be cut short. And there, sandwiched between them, was—Peter.
Remus looked up and caught Sirius's gaze, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. Moody's heart was usually in the right place, but his emotional intelligence left something to be desired.
"Where's Harry?" Sirius asked, looking around.
"I saw him go upstairs," Remus said. "Maybe he went to bed."
"He's not in bed," Moody said gruffly, frowning. His electric-blue eye had swiveled upward and was now staring fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen. "He's…oh, bloody hell."
"What?" Sirius asked him impatiently. "What's going on?"
Moody got to his feet, expression grim. "Drawing room. Upstairs. Now."
Remus stared from the dead Harry sprawled across the drawing room floor, to the real Harry standing frozen just inside the doorway, and finally, to Molly, who was whimpering helplessly and trying in vain to hold her wand steady.
Then, without missing a beat, Remus stepped forward, gently pushing Harry out of the way and raising his own wand. At once, the Boggart's shape shifted, molding into the familiar silvery orb—and, ignoring the telltale constricting of his heart, Remus said firmly, "Riddikulus."
The Boggart disappeared in a harmless puff of smoke.
There was one shivering second of silence. Then, the next instant, Molly's expression crumpled and she sagged against the wall, overcome with fresh tears.
"Molly…" Remus was at a loss for words. "Molly, don't…" Slowly, he walked over to her. Behind him, he could feel Sirius's, Moody's, and Harry's gazes on his back.
And then, Remus did something that surprised even himself. He put his arms around Molly and let her sob into his shoulder. "Molly, it was just a Boggart," he said gently, patting her head. "Just a stupid Boggart…"
"I see them d-d-dead all the time!" Molly wailed, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it…"
Over Molly's shoulder, Remus saw that Sirius was staring fixedly at the patch of carpet where Harry's dead body had been sprawled across the floor. Behind Sirius, Moody was looking at Harry, whose expression betrayed a stark mixture of distress and shame. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the woodwork behind him.
"Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-P-Percy's not talking to us. What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed—who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"
"Molly, that's enough," Remus said finally, unable to bear the sight of Harry's expression any longer. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—" Molly gave a little squeak of terror. "Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it." Remus paused, taking a deep breath. "Look—I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand—last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters, and they were picking us off one by one…"
Molly sniffed heartily, wiping her cheeks dry. Remus knew where her thoughts must be—with the younger brothers who had left her house after dinner one evening and never returned…
"Don't worry about Percy," Sirius's sharp voice cut unexpectedly into the silence. "He'll come around. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open. Once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology," he added coolly.
"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," Remus told Molly with a small smile, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"
Molly gave him a tremulous smile, and at last, Remus felt comfortable sending her off to bed with a firm suggestion that she take a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and not spend a single second worrying about cleaning up after Ron and Hermione's party. Once back in the kitchen, Remus murmured a few thoughtful words to Arthur, sending him upstairs after his wife. And while Bill took on the task of corralling his younger siblings up to bed and Tonks led Moody, Kingsley, and Mundungus up to the front door, Remus found himself alone for the second time that night with Sirius, who had seated himself at the kitchen table with a new glass of Firewhisky.
Remus eyed the glass disapprovingly for a moment. Then, he stalked over to the table and snatched up the bottle of Firewhisky.
"I'm cutting you off," he said curtly, walking over to the liquor cabinet and carefully stowing the bottle back on the top shelf. "The kids are leaving for the station tomorrow—they don't need to see you hungover before their first day back at school."
Sirius didn't respond. Without breaking eye contact with the stretch of wall in front of him, he lifted his glass to his lips and took a long sip. Remus sighed and rolled his eyes, then resumed his gathering of dirty plates and empty Butterbeer bottles, banishing them to the already overflowing sink.
Suddenly—
"He looked like James."
Remus looked up. Sirius was still gazing fixedly at the wall, though his jaw was slightly clenched now.
Remus frowned. "Who? Harry?"
Sirius shook his head. "No—well, yes…I meant…the Boggart."
Remus blinked, several times. "The Boggart…"
Finally, Sirius turned around and caught his eyes. And the hollow, draining emptiness in Sirius's expression caused Remus's heart to plummet to his feet like a stone, as—at long last—everything clicked.
"You saw them, didn't you?" Remus said in a hushed voice, his eyes wide. "That night…after you left Peter's and you went to Godric's Hollow…you—you went inside…?"
He trailed off, unable to continue. And, swallowing heavily, his eyes never leaving Remus's, Sirius nodded.
Remus closed his eyes, feeling sick. He dropped the dirty plate he was holding back into the sink and sagged back against the counter, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, God."
For a long while, no one spoke in the basement kitchen. Remus's mind was filled with disjointed thoughts, and the image of the Boggart posing as Harry's corpse kept flashing across his brain. When he had told Molly earlier that the Order was in a better position than it had been in last time, he had not said it to comfort her—he had said it because it was the only thing he could promise honestly. Not that they would all be safe, that no one would get hurt. Only that the odds were slightly more in their favor this time around. But Remus knew better than anyone how quickly the odds could change, once they started…
There was a sudden clink from across the kitchen, and Remus looked up to see Sirius set his glass down and climb to his feet, his face wooden as ever. Without a word, he crossed the kitchen toward the basement stairs. But then, at the foot of the staircase, he paused, looking at Remus.
"I don't care what Dumbledore says—I'm going to the station with the others tomorrow," he said shortly. "Just thought I'd let you know."
Remus opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it a second later. He had run out of wisdom, of cautionary advice. There was nothing more he could say to make sense of the terrible, horrible state that they—and the rest of the Wizarding world—were in. So, for several, long moments, he just stared across the kitchen at Sirius. And Sirius, with a final nod, disappeared up the stairs, his footsteps echoing strangely behind him.
