Resolutions

By Neurotica

Twelve

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were in the sitting room of the Burrow doing various things—Ginny was reading a Quidditch magazine, Hermione's head was resting on a pillow in Ron's lap while she stared at her Head Girl badge in shock, and Ron was holding her hand, his fingers massaging her knuckles while he listened to a Quidditch match on the wireless. Mrs. Weasley was out back feeding the chickens and tending to her vegetable garden. Fred and George, who were visiting for the day, were in the kitchen doing what they called "business."

None of them had any inkling of what had happened in the Ministry of Magic only a short time before, until a loud gong sounded ominously twelve times.

Ron jumped and looked over at his sister who had paled, her eyes glued to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The twins dropped whatever it was they were doing, and run into the sitting room, staring unblinkingly at the clock. Hermione also sat up to see what was happening—she emitted a soft whimper. Though he hadn't seen what the others had, Ron was also pale and shaking as he finally turned around to look.

His father's hand on the clock had just struck the part of the clock that would normally show the number twelve. But there were no numbers on this clock, and when a hand fell on that area—which it never had before—it meant the worse thing that could happen.

The backdoor in the kitchen opened and closed, though none of the Weasley children or Hermione heard it. "Fred and George!" their mother yelled. "Get this mess off my kitchen table now!"

Fred and George couldn't move a muscle. Mrs. Weasley entered the sitting room and looked around at the children's faces. "What is wrong with you all?"

The twins turned to their mother, tears built up in their eyes. "Mum..." George said weakly.

"What is it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, now quite concerned. Nobody answered right away, but Fred forced his mother to turn away from the clock (which she had yet to see) and led her to the kitchen to sit down.

Ron could vaguely hear Ginny start to cry, and Hermione had increased her grip on his hand. His entire body was numb, his eyes hadn't blinked once as he stared at the small picture of his father's smiling face, his hand stuck on "dead."

A few moments later, a horrible wail sounded in the kitchen. The twins had just told their mother what they'd all seen.

"No!" she shouted. "No, it's not true!" She stumbled into the sitting room, tears already pouring down her face as she pushed her twin boys away from her—they were trying to keep her away from the clock. "NO!" she cried when her eyes found her beloved's face. She collapsed to the floor on her knees, her face buried in her hands and a mass of red hair. Ginny shakily left her chair to hug her mother tightly, and Hermione followed. Ron still couldn't move.

Slowly, he turned his head from the clock to find his brothers. He'd never seen either of the twins really cry. Even when they were kids and they fell and scraped their knees, they just laughed it off and went about their day. It horrified Ron to find that both Fred and George were openly crying and not attempting to hide it from anybody. The youngest Weasley boy stood on his weak, shaking legs and crossed the room until he reached George, who immediately wrapped him up tightly in a hug. Fred put his arms around both of them and the sounds of loud sobs filled the air.

The basement kitchen of Number Twelve had fallen into a numb, shocked state. When Sirius had found Arthur beneath that pillar, he'd immediately levitated it away from the trapped wizard and called for help. Every attempt to revive and heal Arthur had failed—he'd been crushed to death long before he'd even been found.

Charlie had followed in the crowd that gathered around Sirius and Arthur. The young wizard's eyes had widened and every ounce of color in his tanned face had drained in the flash of a second. Every minute after that was a complete blur for Sirius. He vaguely remembered going to the Burrow with Remus, and Remus confirming Molly's fears and suspicions. But he wasn't sure how he'd gotten back to Number Twelve, nor did he remember any of the Weasleys or Hermione coming along.

He looked around the kitchen and received a jolt of shock to see half of the Order sitting at the table, all of them crying, about to cry, or finishing a round of crying.

Arthur couldn't be dead. Not because of some freak accident involving a junior Death Eater and a stone pillar. If Arthur had to die, it should have been in a fierce battle to protect his family. Not that Sirius wanted him to die, but if he, Sirius, was going to die, that's how he'd want to go. But this was just wrong. Arthur wouldn't even be remembered as the hero he was; he'd be remembered as the weirdo who loved Muggles and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sirius felt his eyes sting at the very notion. Arthur Weasley deserved so much more than that. He'd been one of the first people to accept Sirius back into the wizarding world after his release from Azkaban. Both he and Molly had been marvelous friends to Sirius, Remus, and Harry over the last eleven years and would drop everything they were doing to help them.

Arthur never received the respect he deserved within the Ministry; though a few years back, Minister Bones had moved the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts' offices to a decent-sized room and had given both Arthur and his partner a significant pay raise. Sirius couldn't help but think he hadn't told Arthur enough—if he'd ever told him —how much he appreciated the other wizard's friendship.

"And now it's too late," Sirius heard his hoarse voice say aloud without meaning to. Beside him, Naomi started a bit and turned to him, her eyes rimmed with red. Sirius' jaw clenched as he tried not to cry too—he should be strong for the others, they needed him now. But as he took in the others breaking down, even Remus, who was always the strong one, he felt warm teardrops leak from his eyes, and before he knew it, he was wrapped in his wife's arms, crying as hard as anyone else in the room.

Upstairs in Harry's bedroom, the scene wasn't much different. Every pair of open eyes was puffy and rimmed with red. Not one person had been spared from a crying spell at least four times that night. Ginny had cried herself to sleep in Harry's arms; Ron had done the same in Hermione's; Fred and George hadn't looked anyone in the eye for hours. Harry didn't know what to say that could possibly help his friends with their grief, just like when Hermione's parents had been murdered. But unlike with Hermione's parents, Harry had known Mr. Weasley most of his life and he'd always treated Harry as one of his own sons.

Remus had told him exactly what had happened at the Ministry after Sirius had sent him back to Number Twelve. He silently vowed that if he ever saw Draco Malfoy again, the other boy would not make it out of the encounter in one piece, if he made it out at all. It was one thing to threaten or harm Harry, but when his friends were hurt, he wanted revenge—yet another trait he'd gained from Sirius and possibly even his father.

Harry had wondered many things that night, but the one that had been at the forefront of his mind was what the Weasleys would do now. Mrs. Weasley was completely destroyed—she was currently asleep in one of the spare bedrooms in Order Headquarters; Harry was sure someone had given her a strong sleeping draught. Bill and Charlie would probably stay close to home to help their mother through this, as would Fred and George, but the other Weasley children would be going off to Hogwarts soon. He supposed there would be a funeral before they left for school...

Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Harry figured that was what it was like when someone you love died. The war didn't matter. His being Head Boy didn't matter. The Apparition test he'd passed with flying colors just earlier that day—had it really only been a few hours ago?—especially didn't matter. All that mattered right now was that everyone he loved and cared about was in terrible pain. And once again, it could all be traced back to Lord Voldemort. If it hadn't been for him, Draco Malfoy never would have joined the Death Eaters—there wouldn't have been any Death Eaters for him to join—and he never would have gone to the Ministry and caused that pillar to collapse.

Harry's mind drifted to thoughts about the prophecy. I can put an end to this, he thought. Once Voldemort's gone, all these pointless deaths will stop, and I won't have to see my friends suffer anymore. He gently rubbed circles on Ginny's back while she slept. His fate wasn't important—it was his family he worried for and it was for them that he would defeat Lord Voldemort.

Remus went through the motions of seeing his fellow Order members to the door just past midnight. He didn't want to think or feel or do anything but sleep right now. Arthur had been one of his closest friends, one of the groomsmen at his wedding. He hadn't shunned Remus like so many people in the wizarding world had when they found out what he was. To the contrary; Arthur had asked questions of Remus for an hour and a half after he found out about the younger wizard's condition—he seemed genuinely interested. But of course there wasn't a more genuine, kindhearted man in all of the wizarding world than Arthur Weasley, and it was nothing short of life-shattering to know that he would not be around to see the rest of his children grow up, get married, or have children of their own.

And Molly... When Remus and Sirius had gone to the Burrow that afternoon, it was quite clear that the woman knew her husband was gone from her. Remus had held her while she cried for forty-five minutes while her children packed a few bags for them all to stay at Number Twelve. It would do Molly absolutely no good to be alone in the home she and Arthur had shared for so many years once her children left for Hogwarts in less than a month.

Members of the Order had been dropping by to offer their condolences—even Dung had seemed rather shaken-up by the tragedy. Then again, Arthur had been one of the few who had accepted the thief as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Andromeda Tonks had sent dish after dish of food with her daughter to feed the house, something for which Remus was grateful; nobody felt like cooking, even if they had had any sort of appetite.

Bill and Charlie had pulled Remus aside during the evening to ask him for his help in preparing for their father's funeral. They would take care of most of the details, but they wanted Remus there, not only for moral support—he'd been like an uncle to them, they'd told him—but to make sure everything went smoothly. Remus promised to help in any way he could. He hadn't wanted to bring up the Weasleys' financial situation so soon after Arthur's death, but he'd asked the two eldest boys if their parents had anything stashed away. Bill said they had a bit, but anything their mother needed in terms of gold would be provided by himself, Charlie, Fred and George, who, Remus learned, would be opening a joke shop in Diagon Alley within the next few months.

"Dad knew about it," Charlie said quietly with a shadow of a smile. "He told them he would support anything they wanted to do and would soften Mum up when they finally decided to tell her."

"I'm so sorry, boys," Remus said sincerely to them as they both started to get a bit choked-up again. "Your father was a magnificent man, and I am privileged and honored to have called him my friend."

Not long after that conversation, the two younger wizards had slipped away to check on their mother and weren't seen again for a good few hours.

"Hey, you," Emmeline said quietly, finding him sitting on the bottom stair beside the door. The injury to her head had been healed within seconds, though the Healer who examined her had given her a potion to ensure her twins wouldn't get any ill effects from the concussion she'd sustained. She carefully sat beside her husband and took his hand. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head a bit jerkily. "No," he said hoarsely. "How did we not see that Arthur was trapped under that bloody pillar? How did nobody see him?"

"I honestly don't know, love," she replied, sniffing. "I wish we had; we might have been able to save him..."

"It never should have happened," Remus said bitterly. "Arthur didn't deserve that... And to think a eighteen-year-old boy was the cause of it..."

"It's horrible," Emmeline agreed. "God, Remus, what are Molly and the kids going to do without him?"

He shook his head again. "That family was so close. They loved each other so much... And to think that Arthur won't be here to see his eldest son married in December—Bill told me just yesterday that he and Fleur have finally set a date." He sighed and increased the grip on his wife's hand. "I can't begin to imagine what Molly's going through right now..."

She nodded. "My life would be over if I lost you, Remus, and we've only been together a year and a half. Molly and Arthur have been together over thirty years."

"I can't think of any way I could even start to console her. I held her while she cried today, but that wasn't nearly enough."

"All we can do is make sure she knows we're here for her with anything she needs. And she will need us once the shock wears off."

"When do you think that will happen, though? She's just lost her soul mate..." He choked back a sob that threatened to escape from his throat and put an arm around his wife. "I feel so selfish by thinking how relieved I am that you weren't killed today. I couldn't have taken it, Emmeline."

"It's not selfish, darling; it's a normal reaction to a tragedy. I know you're heartbroken over Arthur, but you're allowed to worry for others, and to be relieved that we're okay."

"Please don't ever leave me," he begged, his eyes filling with tears. "I couldn't live without you..."

"I know," she said, holding him close while he cried. She didn't want to promise him she would never leave him by death (he knew she'd never leave him voluntarily). But they were at war, and none of them knew what would happen. This day was the perfect example of that. She did swear to him, though, that she would do whatever it took to see that they both made it through the war and would live long lives together. It was the best she could do at the moment, and he seemed to accept it. For now, anyway.

Sirius couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning for hours, and though he'd been exhausted earlier, he wasn't even the least bit tired now. Somewhere to his right, Naomi was sleeping deeply—he decided not to risk waking her, and carefully got out of bed. He quietly padded out of the bedroom and down to the next door over, where his daughter's nursery was.

He looked inside the dark brown, wooden crib and found Mira was also wide-awake and staring straight up at the mobile of different Quidditch balls and broomsticks, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione's gift to the baby. Sirius figured Ron had protested about getting something "girly" and they'd settled on this. Either way, Mira loved it.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said quietly, a smile forming on his face as he reached in and gently picked her up. She made only the smallest sound of protest at being taken from her bed, but settled quickly in her father's arms as he moved to sit in the armchair by the window. Looking into her little silver eyes, he felt a peace wash over him that he hadn't ever felt before her birth. The longer he held her, the more he wondered how he'd made it all this time without her. "Never knew one person could do that so quickly," he told her as she grabbed hold of his finger. "Well, no, that's not quite true. Harry managed it the day he was born." He chuckled quietly. "I guess this was what James was talking about all those years ago, eh?"

The comfort of having Mira in his arms was quite relaxing, and he finally found his eyes drifting closed on their own, and his head rested on the back of his rocking chair. He had no idea how long he sat there with his daughter, but it wasn't until he heard footsteps in the hallway that his eyes snapped open again. At first, he thought it was one of the kids going down for a drink, but Molly walked into the room moments later. Sirius hid his surprise at her being up and walking around, and really looked at her. She looked horrible—her face was pale and drawn, her eyes the familiar red and puffy that he'd been seeing all day, and she didn't look at all like herself.

"Hello, Molly," he said hoarsely. "Would you like to sit?"

Molly seemed a bit disoriented, as though she had no idea how she'd gotten to be in the nursery. Nevertheless, she took the empty rocking chair across from Sirius and Mira. "May I hold her?" she asked somewhat weakly.

"Of course," Sirius said, standing to hand Mira over to Molly. The witch stared fondly at the baby's face and Sirius swore he'd seen a shadow of a smile on her face appear briefly.

"Arthur adored her," she said, her voice cracking a little. "He said it reminded him of when Ginny was first born. He was really the reason we kept trying for a girl, you know."

Sirius shook his head. "No, I didn't know that."

"He desperately wanted a daughter. There haven't been any girls in either of our families since I was born. We decided after Ginny was born to wait and see if any of the kids had their own children down the road..." It seemed to hit her suddenly that Arthur would never get to see his grandchildren. Sirius wanted to go over and hug the woman, but changed his mind when she cleared her throat, seemingly collecting herself.

"Could I ask a favor of you, Sirius?" Molly asked quietly a few minutes later, still watching Mira.

Sirius nodded. "Anything," he said sincerely.

She hesitated. "I'd like you to take me to Azkaban to see Percy."

He blinked. Anything but that... he thought desperately. "Molly," he said carefully. "I'm not so sure that's really the best idea right now."

"I want to see my son, Sirius. If you won't take me, I will find another way. But I wanted you to be with me."

Sirius was momentarily shocked by the sincerity in her voice. He was torn. On the one hand, he really didn't want to refuse anything Molly asked of him right now. But he also remembered what Percy Weasley had been like the last few times Sirius had seen him, and didn't think it would help Molly to see her son like that so soon after losing her husband. He could tell this was something she wanted very badly, and though he was sure to regret it, he quietly said to Molly, "If that's what you really want, I will take you to Azkaban whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," she said, looking away from Sirius and back to Mira's now sleeping face.

The pair sat together silently for quite some time before Molly carefully stood and gave Mira back to her father and went back to bed.

"You really think that's a good idea?" Proudfoot asked as he and Sirius made their way to the Ministry holding cells the next day. "That boy isn't going to give a damn about his father."

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," Sirius said. "I actually think it's a terrible idea. But you didn't see the woman's face last night."

The other Auror sighed. "You're too soft for your own good, Black."

"When it comes to my family, yes I am. And the Weasleys are family. I couldn't begin to tell you everything they've done for Remus, Harry, and me over the years. And for some bloody reason that I cannot fathom, Molly wants to see her incarcerated Death Eater son." He shrugged. "If it'll help her, I'm willing to do it."

Before the wizards entered the holding cell area, Proudfoot asked, "What've you decided to do with the Malfoy boy?"

"Azkaban," Sirius said promptly. "Won't be a life sentence like his daddy, but it'll be a nice stay."

"What're you charging him with?"

"I wanted to get him for murder, but technically, it was an accident, even though he knowingly made those pillars collapse. Bones won't let Mad-Eye and me charge him for murder. But we're getting him for trespassing on Ministry of Magic property without proper identification, since he didn't have any at all on him, and casting fatal magic. Basically, he's being charged with manslaughter."

"And how long will that get him?"

"So far Mad-Eye says it'll get him a good ten years, but we're wondering if we can get him for use of an Unforgivable."

Proudfoot nodded and held the door open for his boss, and Sirius led the way into the holding cells, stopping before the first cell on the right. Draco Malfoy was lying on his side, facing the cement wall. For a minute, Sirius couldn't think of him as the Death Eater responsible for his friend's death, but as a helpless little boy who'd just been wrongly led. He snapped out of it quickly, though, and rapped his wand sharply on the cell's bar, startling the boy inside. Draco turned around to face them slowly, glaring at the Aurors.

"Did we disturb your nap? Terribly sorry," Sirius said dryly. "Get up; we're going to have a little chat."

That morning, Sirius had entered his office to find an owl from Dumbledore waiting for him. The Headmaster had asked to speak with Draco Malfoy before he was taken to Azkaban. Sirius got the idea that Dumbledore wanted to get an idea if the boy was redeemable.

There's no redeeming a Malfoy, Sirius thought as he took hold of Draco's upper arm tightly and led him down to the stone interrogation room. But the Headmaster always had a soft spot for the younger generation, the kids who'd come from families who were seen as dark to others. Sirius had been one of those kids, though he'd never attempted to follow in his family's footsteps. Either way, Dumbledore had always seemed to have a soft spot for him—or it could have been that the old wizard just enjoyed the pranks Sirius and his friends came up with...

Dumbledore was already there, waiting for them. Sirius nodded his hello and sat Draco down in a cold metal chair across a table from the Headmaster. The two Aurors stood guard on either side of the table to make sure the boy didn't try anything.

"Good afternoon, Draco," Dumbledore said quietly. Draco didn't respond, but Dumbledore wasn't the least bit fazed. "Would you care to explain to me and these superb Aurors why you felt the need to attack the Ministry of Magic on your own yesterday?"

Sirius thought Draco was just going to sit there, staring at the floor, ignoring the headmaster, but to his great shock, the boy replied a few moments later. "The Dark Lord sent me," he said quietly. "He's been angry with me for months because I didn't finish my assignment in January and he said I needed to make it up to him."

"Do you realize, Draco, that your actions have killed a man?"

The Head Auror wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Draco pale at the news. "No," he answered stiffly. "Who?"

Sirius wanted to punch the little sot in the head for the way Draco's expression changed when Dumbledore told him about Arthur. It was hardly noticeable, and possible that Sirius read it wrong, but there seemed to be a spark of pride in the boy's eyes, if only for a second or two.

"Do you further realize, Draco, that you will be taken to Azkaban for what you've done?"

Draco shrugged in a nonchalant way that Sirius had mastered in his younger years when his friends asked him about his family—it was completely fake. "It's better than going back to the Dark Lord," he muttered.

Dumbledore locked eyes with the boy for long moments, and furrowed his brow slightly—Sirius assumed he was using Legilimency on the boy. "I wonder, Sirius, if I could speak with you in private for a moment?"

Sirius nodded, slowly removing his glare from Draco to look at the Headmaster. He followed Dumbledore out into the corridor. "What do you think, sir?" he asked, once the door was closed.

"I think Draco is far too young to be in a position such as this," Dumbledore responded with a sad sigh. "If only there was something I could have done to save him from this fate."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Did you know he'd become a Death Eater?"

"I did. I spoke with him during the last school term about his choices. It is now clear that I did not get through to him."

Sirius thought that was the understatement of the year. "What would you have done?"

"If Arthur had not been killed, I would have tried to convince you to put Draco into hiding. He is still quite young, and there is still a chance for him to realize his mistakes and attempt to correct them. But after what happened to Arthur, I do not believe you would agree to such terms."

Sirius sighed. "I don't know, Albus. There is a part of me that feels sorry for him, that knows what kind of environment he grew up in—I was in that same environment when I was a kid, but I saw how wrong my parents were; Draco didn't. But there's also a part of me who wants to beat his head against the wall for what happened. And what's really bad is that he probably didn't even mean to kill Arthur; Arthur was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he wanted to be arrested. You heard what he said about Azkaban being better than going back to Voldemort."

"But in Azkaban he will still be in close proximity of his father," Dumbledore said.

The younger wizard nodded. "I trust your judgment, Albus," he said after a few minutes of fighting with himself silently. "If you still want to send Draco into hiding, I'll do what I can to help."

Dumbledore looked rather shocked. Sirius was just as shocked himself. Only five minutes before, he'd wanted to beat the snot out of the boy. Why was he now offering to help him? Either I really have gotten soft or I've officially gone mental, he thought.

He and Dumbledore went back into the interrogation room where Sirius pulled aside his second-in-command and told him what was happening, or what would be happening. "Are you mad?" Proudfoot whispered incredulously.

"Yes," Sirius said flatly. "This stays between you, me, and Dumbledore. If it gets out, I'll have your head on my wall."

Proudfoot only raised an eyebrow at the threat. "And how do you plan on explaining how Draco Malfoy has just disappeared from Ministry custody?"

"We'll tell everyone we took him to Azkaban. And when they wonder why he's not there, we'll tell them he tried to escape, fell into the sea on the boat ride there, and drowned."

"Nobody is going to believe that."

"Don't be so sure. I came up with much weaker excuses when I was at school, and those got me out of dozens of detentions. This is actually plausible compared to those, and no one is going to give a damn about a junior Death Eater drowning on the way to Azkaban."

He was speaking generally, and he knew he'd have some explaining to do when he saw Remus, Naomi, and Emmeline, but he'd deal with that when the time came.