Hogwarts itself never seems to change, and something about that is highly disquieting to Remus as he stares up at the castle. Doesn't seem right to smoke here, no matter how much his fingers itch for a fag. He notes the vast sea of red hair that indicates that the Weasleys are all here. He ought to go and ask about Bill, if the young man is making any progress. As it turns out, he doesn't have to, because apparently Molly has found him.
"Remus, dear. There you are." She says, clutching at his arm in a vise-like grip. Arthur Weasley appears behind her, tired and somber looking.
"Lupin." He says by way of greeting, bowing his head slightly. Remus finds himself returning the gesture.
"Now, I've brought you something to heat up, Remus." Molly tells him, fishing around in an alarmingly large carpetbag and producing a sealed container of what appears to be some sort of soup. "You never eat enough." She mutters fretfully, and her eyes are brimming with tears that he suspects have nothing at all to do with him.
"Now, Molly." Arthur says gently, "I think we should find our seats."
"Of course, Arthur. Oh, for the love of Merlin, Ron's tie isn't straight." She says, and Lupin follows her gaze to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione in a small group of their friends. He notes that Ginny Weasley seems awfully close to Harry and fights the sudden constriction in his throat at the sight of them looking so damn much like Lily and James. Arthur and Molly drift away, and he's left standing there, clutching the ridiculous container of soup to his chest for all he's worth. People shuffle to their seats, and for some reason he feels so horribly out of place that he swallows and turns away from the large white coffin and starts walking.
"Oh. You're leaving, then." He turns to see her standing there, wearing a brazenly out of place set of blue robes that clash vividly with her hair. He's not surprised that she's come after all.
"Considering it, yes. Lovely robes, by the way." She glances down, a frown crossing her face.
"S'all I had clean. Didn't want to show up smelling like takeout."
"Ah."
The silence stretches between them until she smiles wanly.
"I see you've got soup. Molly hit me up with sandwiches. She's got a regular arsenal in that bag." The lump in his throat is back, and he tries to fight off the feeling that he ought to be kissing her.
"Yes, well. Apparently I'm a charity case. Not that I'm complaining, of course, because I happen to know that Molly Weasley makes excellent soup."
"I suppose that if we sit through this, we could head off to the Hog's Head for a drink afterwards." She says nonchalantly, crossing her arms and squinting up at the castle. He knows perfectly well that they'll go to a Muggle bar instead, someplace with a band, and then they'll go back to her flat and muss her sheets. He's quite fond of her flat, really.
"Right. Though that would in fact cut into Dung and I's quality time."
"You're a wanker."
"Dually noted."
And then she's grabbing his hand, and he realizes that he's grabbing back with his own quiet desperation.