As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
There was far too much going on. All of it disturbing.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, hands wrapped around the steaming mug of tea Molly had poured out for him. Despite expectations (not to mention his own desires), the Headmaster had not gone directly upstairs on his arrival. Rather, he had taken one look at the pinched faces waiting for him and decided the best course of action would be to get straight to Order business without delay.
Harry and Ron had both volunteered to keep an eye on the Order's prodigal spy so that the senior members could all meet at the same time. For once Harry was not exactly devastated at not being a part of the goings on downstairs. Indeed, as anyone could see by his pinched expression, the boy was tired of it. Tired of all the tension and fear. And what with the attack on "The Burrow," (not really surprising given Mr Weasley's well known Muggle sympathies), tired of never having a definitive win. He wanted to help. But he was willing, for once, to let the adults shoulder all the responsibility of the decision making. He and Ron had taken themselves and a Wizard's Chess set upstairs. The game would hopefully keep them occupied while their potions professor slept fitfully nearby.
The Headmaster was showing his age when he lifted his face and settled his gaze to his right, upon Molly's determinedly hopeful face. He reached out and patted her hands folded tensely before her as on the rough grained kitchen table. "I am so sorry, child," he began.
"It's just a house, Albus. Not my children." She interrupted with a forced vigor. It was just a house, after all. The house they'd built up from a tiny cottage. The house where she'd raised -- was raising -- her seven children. But his tender pat on her hand told her he knew what the home had meant. "My children are what matter," she reiterated softly. "All children matter--" her voice broke and, embarrassed, she swiped her eyes with the corner of her ever present apron.
"Let's get on with this Albus," Moody growled. "Some of us have things to do. I'm sorry Molly but --"
"It's war. I know, Alastor," the indomitable red head finished his sentence before him and sat up straighter.
"The foundation is still strong and the original building is mostly there..." Dumbledore continued. "It can be rebuilt."
"After the War, Albus." Arthur Weasley's voice was strong and decisive. "First we win this war, then we rebuild." He hesitated and continued with a gentler tone, "We'll rebuild when our children are safe. But it is nice to know it's not all gone."
"Probably even a few garden gnomes are left waiting for you," Tonks added with a poorly stifled sniff.
"I'm just glad there were no deaths." Molly whispered. "I'm glad we had the warning, but it's awful that Harry still has this connection to him."
"To be honest," Moody said thoughtfully, "I'm a bit surprised it took him this long to decide to attack you, Arthur. You and Molly both come from solid pureblood lines, but you are a well known muggle-phile and not without some rank in the ministry."
Dumbledore sipped his tea and waited for the topic to come to a natural end. "At least that gives us someone in residence here at headquarters." A furtive glance upwards said what he didn't put into words. That having the Weasleys staying at Grimmauld Place also meant that he could keep Severus safely hidden; at least until the man was recovered. Assuming...
Remus Lupin was nodding absently. "Yes, it's good to have someone here all the time." Sirius' will had left all his possessions to both the werewolf and Harry, with Remus as executor. Remus had assured the Headmaster that the Order would have use of the place for as long as was needed. The place needed fixing up, but at least that mad house-elf was gone. He'd been remanded to the care of the elf-unit of St. Mungos, despite the fact that more than once of the Order members would not have minded a less charitable finish.
"No one better than Molly!" Tonks added cheerfully, pouring out a second mug of tea for herself. "You have no idea how welcome it is to come back from a mission to your hot chocolate and friendly face, Molly." She grinned as the older woman ducked her head and blushed.
"Well that's fine, but what about prince charming up there." Moody growled. "I take he hasn't offered anything useful."
"Moody," Kingsley Shacklebolt warned, shooting the retired Auror a long suffering glare.
"He hasn't said anything, really." Molly reported calmly. "He's made sounds but hasn't actually spoken. He's not really been quite conscious yet."
"I for one want to know what the hell he was doing in a muggle hospital."
Dumbledore finished his tea. "I think we'd all like to know that, Alastor. It's not exactly Voldemort's regular modus operandi, is it. But I think it is equally important that we find out what path brought him there." He looked around the table at the expectant faces. "Tonks?"
The youngest Auror looked thoughtful, as if she was referring to notes stored behind her eyes. Her gaze refocused on the headmaster and she began her report in a bland tone of recitation that had none of her usual accent or timbre. "Snape was last seen leaving Hogwarts by Professor Sprout early morning a week after classes ended. He was wearing black robes --"
"The man wears nothing else--" Moody was cut off by a sour look from both Lupin and Shaklebolt.
Tonks cleared her throat and resumed, "He may have been spotted two days later in... no, outside of Banstead in Surrey in the company of three other Death Eaters. This is uncertain as they were all masked and none of them were captured."
"That's the last sighting and it's not even a reliable one." Shaklebolt added.
"The next time he's seen is on Muggle telly."
"Yes, Hermoine's owl came as soon as she could dash off a note," Dumbledore said.
"And others came to the ministry. Sure was a shock to his muggle-born students seeing him trussed up like a--"
"Nymphadora Tonks!" Molly wasn't sure what the younger woman was about to compare the Potions Master with, but she was certain is wasn't nice and she was in no mood to hear it.
"Sorry."
"He's not as badly as other times the Dark Lord has seen fit to..." Molly broke off with a helpless shrug.
"It's not as if the Dark Lord would send him to a muggle hospital anyway." Arthur did his best to take up the slack. "But there are signs of torture and I'd say it's muggle torture. Much as I'm intrigued with them, I know they are as human and as fallible as we wizards."
Dumbledore sat up straighter and frowned. "What do you mean, Arthur?"
The red haired Weasley patriarch frowned in turn. "Tiny punctures in the skin. Poppy saw them when she first examined him. She said that was how muggle healers administer their odd potions. Not all wizarding potions are for healing, we shouldn't expect any different from muggle potions." His frown deepened. "Poppy fears things could be pretty bad for him. She said that many of these muggle concoctions provided quite unfortunate effects to some of the old purebloods. She was going to do some research as soon as she got back to Hogwarts."
"Well, it hasn't been but a day--"
Whatever else the Headmaster was going to say was lost when Ron came barreling into the kitchen. "Mum, Dad, we need help!"
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