Lux Aeterna

Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine.
Cum sanctis tuis in aeternum,
Domine, quia pius es.

Molly walks through the Burrow, opening doors, peering into bedrooms. The house is oddly quiet, oddly empty, as if the whole family had heard her coming and decided to hide. Slowly she climbs the stairs, and hearing no one her heartbeat quickens, her breathing becomes heavy.

Percy's room is empty, Ginny's bed is unmade, the twins' cluttered. She reaches the top, stops at the door to Ron's bedroom, a dull hope that everyone from Arthur to Ginny is inside. Her hand freezes on the doorknob, fingers repeatedly curling and uncurling around it with indecision. She doesn't want to open the door, doesn't want to see what's on the other side, but a sudden surge of courage finds her twisting the knob and pushing it open.

The room is empty, curtains silently fluttering in the breeze streaming through the open window. Through them she can see the shed where Arthur used to keep his Muggle car, and farther off, the river glittering in the afternoon sun and the peak of the town's church tower. Ron's posters are all frozen still, as if they were waiting for him to return before moving again, but his school robes are haphazardly lumped at the foot of the bed, his red and gold scarf draped over the headboard.

Outside in the garden she finds both dining tables, pushed against each other and covered with a spotless white tablecloth. Eleven places are set, her finest cutlery and crockery carefully arranged, but most of the napkins have been knocked over by the breeze, tumbled down to fall on the eleven empty chairs.

-

Molly wakes up in a bed that is still unfamiliar to her, lumpy and moldy with age. She feels the heat of a warm body next to her, and in the moonlit darkness her hand finds Arthur's side, grown flabby in places with both age and food. She splays it against his stomach, feeling the even rhythm of his breathing, wanting to fall asleep to it. His snoring, which she has complained about many times in the past, is a soft comfort now, though not enough to dull her fears.

It's always hard to fall back asleep after these dreams. She knows they are not real, but that does nothing for the fact that the idea of losing one of her children haunts Molly more than anything else ever could. Especially now that Percy... that Percy has left -- left his family, gone places where Molly can no longer protect him -- not a night goes by that Molly doesn't wake, forehead covered in sweat, breathing heavy with fear.

Some times, Molly wants nothing better than to grab Ron by his lapels and shake him hard. Shake him until he notices the glimmer in her eyes and the fear inside her; shake him until he promises to not go with Harry the next time the boy gets himself caught in something. Some times she wishes she had never told Harry how to cross the barrier to the platform that first morning. Some nights she fervently wishes Harry and Ron had never become friends on the train, wishes that Ron had been a Hufflepuff and that someone else, some other mother were lying in this bed, thinking these thoughts, blinking away tears and holding back fears.

Other times, Molly wants to hold Harry -- poor Harry -- and tell him that everything is going to be all right, that everything is going to work out; all those mothering phrases that are so heartfelt and so meaningless and no one has ever told him before. She wants to do away with his jaded expressions and replace them with the innocence of childhood that belongs in a boy's face. Molly wants to look at Harry and see him smile with nothing but simple happiness, his unruly hair combed and pushed back from his unmarked forehead.

It's not Harry's fault, she knows, but late at night that doesn't make things any better.

Knowing that there's only one way to fall asleep after this, she shuffles out of bed, finds her dressing gown and pads down to the kitchen looking for water, grimacing when the snoring from that horrible portrait reaches her ears. Really, could they have found no other place to turn into their headquarters? It does the children little good, being surrounded by such foul things day after day. This place is the last one she would have chosen to spend their summer. Simply put, Molly can't protect them here, not from the cursed doorknobs and Dart Arts books, nor from anything they may accidentally overhear.

It's the people here, the company they keep, that bothers Molly most. It's not that she does not believe Sirius is innocent, of course, but from believing him to liking him is a far leap, and one she's in no haste to make. And Sirius is not the only one who worries her, of course, just the one who worries her the most.

There is nothing wrong with Minerva McGonagall, nor with Kingsley Shacklebolt or Hestia or Emmeline. But there is Tonks, who doesn't always know when to stop speaking, and Moody, whom she doesn't doubt was a wonderful Auror, although that doesn't make him any less unnerving. There's Sirius, of course, there's Mundungus, and there's Kreacher and there's... and there's even Remus, because sometimes she can't forget what he is, despite herself.

No, this is not where she wants her children to grow up.

-

The kitchen is dark, the fire in the hearth practically dead, and Molly wishes for her wand, to turn on the gas lamps. Fumbling in the darkness, she reaches for a cup and opens the faucet in the sink, letting the water run for a while as she breathes deeply, over and over.

It's only when she sits down at the kitchen table and begins drinking in small sips that she notices the two bright eyes staring at her and the large black dog they belong to. She gasps and knocks her glass over, thinking that it's a Grim in front of her until she notices the even larger wolf, curled up next to the fireplace.

Then her breathing quickens for another reason altogether, but when she looks at the dog and the wolf again instead she finds Sirius, stiffly rising from the floor, shaking dust from his clothing.

"You won't tell?" he asks, so softly that for a second she wonders if she isn't still dreaming.

"No," she replies, rising to refill her glass and wipe the water on the table before it all trickles down to the floor.

"Sorry about before," he says, sitting in one of the chairs, failing to sound apologetic. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"I... I didn't expect anyone to be here, that's all."

"He doesn't like it when people see him, but it's warmer here, and bigger too. And he's taken Snape's potion, so it's not as if he would hurt anyone. All he does is sleep," he tells her, while constantly turning his head to look at the wolf -- at Remus, Molly tells herself, at Remus.

"Do you... do you always do this?"

Sirius stares at her darkly for a few moments of complete silence. "No," comes the terse reply. "Usually he'll go somewhere else. Away."

Before she can say anything in reply to that, he rises brusquely from the table and transforms into the great black dog again, resting his head on his paws. He watches her intently as she finishes her drink and places the glass on the sink, his eyes two bright points in the darkness of the kitchen.

As she heads upstairs, she cannot help but take one last look at the two animals. The wolf sleeping peacefully next to the fireplace and the black dog -- "so like a Grim," says a voice inside her head, "so much like a Grim," -- keeping guard next to him, both of them perfectly still, lit only by dying embers.

In the darkness, they don't look quite real, and Molly shivers violently, seized by the sudden urge to go check on her children.

-

The floorboards creak and sag under her weight, and Molly is afraid that the portraits will wake up, but she makes it past them without incident, climbing the stairs to the bedrooms.

Ginny and Ron share a room because there hasn't been enough time to clean out rooms for everyone. Neither of them like it, but, being children, that does not make them any more eager to help with the cleaning. Instead, she thinks with both fondness and exasperation, they try to make as much a mess as possible to irritate one another.

She picks Ginny's blankets up from the ground, tucking her in; she hovers over her sleeping form for almost a minute and finally places a kiss on her forehead. Ginny moans softly in her sleep, turning over to face the wall, and to Molly she looks no less helpless and innocent than she did fourteen years ago, when she first held her only daughter.

Then she turns to Ron and tucks him in as well, carefully smoothing the turned-down top sheet over the blanket and fighting the urge to ruffle his hair. He's grown now, and it's only when he sleeps that she has a chance to look at him and not have him squirm away or blush or simply complain. He looks so much like Arthur did when he was this age, she thinks, and again she wants to shake Ron, shake him awake so she can hug him and tell him how much she loves him. She doesn't want to tell him that she's afraid of losing him, that she does not want to lose a son, another son, to this war that has not truly begun.

Molly cares about Harry, has cared about him since Ron wrote home to say that the boy they had met on the way to Platform 9 3/4 was none other than the famous Harry Potter, and that they were in the same dormitory. But she doesn't understand, can't understand, why everyone simply assumes that Harry will do whatever is requested of him. Why no one sees that Harry is just a boy, a boy without family, who more than anything else needs love and affection instead of secrets and prophecies.

Tomorrow evening there will be an order meeting, and Dumbledore will doubtlessly remind them all that the sacrifices being made are worth it, but Molly doesn't quite believe him. They will talk about guard duty and decide who will watch Privet Drive in the coming week. Arthur will volunteer, but Dumbledore will probably say no, maybe afraid that he'll become so engrossed in all the Muggle artifacts surrounding him that his watch will slip. Bill will spend at least two nights under Moody's cloak, Mundungus will handle most of the afternoons because he and Remus are the only ones without day jobs.

She thinks of Percy alone in a flat somewhere in London, and swears to herself that she won't let it happen, that somehow or another he will come back to them. Molly is not going to lose any of her children to this war.

But she's afraid that Harry has already been lost.

-

She leaves Ron and Ginny and heads up the stairs, pauses in front of the twins' room and opens the door with hesitation, images from her dream flashing behind her eyes unbidden. But both boys are there, in the room, and they're asleep, and if she weren't so upset she'd notice the faint snoring coming from George's bed.

She moves towards their beds and tucks them in as well, knowing that they'd blanch if they ever found out she still does this, now that they are of age, but to her they'll always be the twins, young and careless. Blinking rapidly, she clears tears that threaten to spill and steps away from the beds, watching the soft rise and fall of Fred's chest under his blankets and finally noticing the low noise coming from George's side of the room.

Their room is just as cluttered as Ron and Ginny's own, and peeking out underneath Fred's bed she can see a pile of order forms for their joke shop, even though she was sure she'd confiscated all of them.

She'll never tell the twins, of course, but she's proud of them -- so proud! -- and of all the things they've made and done. She wishes they would realize that if she doesn't want them to open a joke shop it's because she wants to spare them pain and harshness, because she wants to keep them safe, her children, because she wants to keep them near her.

She casts one last look at them, so peaceful in their sleep, so different from when they're awake, and breathes deeply to silence the sobs that have been threatening since she woke from her nightmare.

Nothing can be worth losing a child, she tells herself between heavy breaths, and softly she closes the door as she exits, padding back to her room.

-

Stifling a sob she sheds her robe and slips back into bed, only to bump into Arthur's arm, stretched over her side of the bed, maybe seeking her warmth.

"I'm sorry," she whispers apologetically as he mumbles something. "I didn't mean to wake you," she offers as she settles underneath the sheets, and feels his hand seeking hers. They lay together in silence for a while, Molly clenching Arthur's hand in her own, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that threaten to spill, but it's a losing battle and a shaky sob escapes her, loud and frightening in the stillness of the bedroom. Arthur says nothing, but shifts, coming closer, and then his arms encircle her.

"It's just... last time, it was so different," and she stops there to draw a shaky breath. "But now, Bill and Charlie... and Ron, and Harry."

"Molly," he murmurs, one of his hands rising to stroke a stray tear away.

"And I'm so scared," she manages. "I think... I think of Percy," she whispers, "and, oh, Arthur!" and there's no stopping the sobs after that; they course through her as she weeps and shudders. She can't speak anymore, only cry, and Arthur holds her, willingly offering all the comfort he can give.

They fall asleep like that much later, Arthur's arms wrapped around her as he murmurs soft things into her ear and she shakes silently with her fears.

It's not the first time, and it will not be the last, and Molly doesn't know how to tell Arthur how grateful she is, and how much she loves him, so instead she holds on to one of his hands all night long, as the other draws comforting circles on her back.

-

The next morning is nothing far from the ordinary. Arthur kisses her and rubs her shoulders before leaving for work, promising to return early, and Molly smiles stoically at his retreating back. She chides Fred and George for apparating into the kitchen, even if they manage to not knock over anything; she butters Ginny's toast and boils two eggs for Ron until the yolk is hard and pale yellow.

Sirius comes into the kitchen as she tidies up, circles under his eyes and sits next to the fireplace, leafing over a newspaper from two or three days ago. He pours himself a cup of cold tea and does not look at her, and he's still there when Molly goes upstairs with Ginny and the boys and makes them help her clean another bedroom. He's also there when she comes downstairs to check on the pan she's left simmering on the stove, leafing through a different newspaper. When their glances finally cross his eyes are cold and guarded, so different from last night, that again she wonders if she didn't dream that part.

He's there the whole day, carelessly leafing through newspapers and speaking to no one, until a pale and haggard Remus appears in the doorway and asks about lunch. With a kindness Molly still doesn't expect from him she watches as Sirius takes care of her children's professor, and just for one instant, she feels that they have more in common than either of them would like to admit.

In the middle of the afternoon Order members begin to trickle into the house, in ones and twos -- Minerva McGonagall dressed in Muggle clothing, and Dedalus Diggle, who arrives with Hestia Jones, and many others. They gather in the kitchen, and repeatedly Molly steps outside to shoo her children away. She scowls at Elphias, who talks loudly about his assignment while standing in the foyer, where everyone can hear, and forcibly leads him to the kitchen. Arthur comes home early, bringing Bill with him, and Molly hugs him so tight that Bill jokingly pretends he can't breathe.

When all the members have arrived, Molly watches as they take their seats. Sirius is still perched next to the fireplace and Remus sits nearby, while Severus makes sure to end up as far away as possible from the two of them. Arthur squeezes her shoulders tenderly and sits next to her, slipping their hands together under the table, and Bill sits on her other side.

-

Molly listens as they all talk, interrupting, stepping into one another's lines. Most of her mind is focused on the meeting, but there is a tiny sliver that instead is thinking about dinner and how the pot in the stove is about to boil over, about how they have to clean another bedroom soon, before Hermione arrives. Kingsley asks Sirius where he would like to be hiding this month and Molly remembers that they also need to clean out the drawing room, and maybe look through some of the rooms in the upper floors for whatever it is that keeps making the pipes clang in the middle of the night, always managing to wake all the portraits up.

As predicted, when the topic of Harry is mentioned, Bill and Tonks end up volunteering to spend most of the coming nights huddled outside Privet Drive sipping tea out of a thermos and watching for Death Eaters. Molly wants to speak up against it because Bill has other things to do, because he can't be expected to work all day and then keep watch all night, but stops herself, because everyone else does too.

Dumbledore is sending Remus on another trip; Molly doesn't like the idea of leaving only Mundungus in charge of Harry during the day, but there's no one else to do it.

She says nothing, but pays close attention when Bill speaks of the goblins in Gringotts, searches his words for any hints of future dangers. When Dumbledore talks about what Charlie last told him, of both the dragons in Romania and other, darker rumors, Molly listens again, leans forward in her chair and stops worrying about dinner, because Dumbledore's solemn tone gives her worse things to worry about.

Dumbledore stops speaking of what Charlie told him the last time they spoke, and instead tells everyone what he ordered Charlie to do. Molly thinks of him, and worries, her hand gripping Arthur's own fervently under the thick wood of the table. He also speaks of the Ministry, of the Department of Mysteries (Molly thinks of Harry, and her heart clenches) and of Fudge (Molly thinks of Percy), and of guard duty (Molly worries about Harry, and thinks of Bill), of the new protections they're adding to Hogwarts (Molly thinks of the twins, and Ginny and Ron, and again of Harry), and of what everyone needs to do; he assigns tasks with an efficiency that border's Molly's own, but that she finds terrifying, because where she commands a sponge and knitting needles, Dumbledore could very well be sending all of them to their deaths.

And again and again he speaks of risks and of war, and sacrifices that must be made, and Molly cannot listen to him anymore, cannot watch as he decides who will do what and when. It always comes back to Harry and the prophecy, and Molly tightens her hand around Arthur's, because she's so scared that they're going to lose him, if they haven't already.

-

Only a few members stay for dinner, Dumbledore one of them, and when Molly calls Ginny and the boys down for dinner they are surprised to find him there, comfortably talking to their father.

Molly watches everyone as they eat, notices Bill and Remus huddled together arguing over some fine point or another from the meeting, and fights the urge to tell them to not talk about such things in front of the children. She sees Sirius disinterestedly push food around in his plate, petulantly refusing to eat, and smiles when Ginny laughs as Tonks makes faces.

She sneaks occasional glances at Dumbledore and he stares back at her, his eyes not merry and twinkling, but old and frail, and of course Molly thinks about Percy again, about how he always sat in the spot where Dumbledore is sitting. She thinks of Percy and of how he should be there, and would be there if only things had been slightly different, if only they had told Percy about the Order, or if only Dumbledore had gotten along better with Fudge, or if...

She is terrified that Percy is gone forever, and the fear of what could happen to him is so great that everything else pales in comparison. When she looks at Dumbledore she sees his tired eyes and his long silver beard, and wonders if this is really the best thing they can do, this talking of war and sacrifices, this oppressive secrecy.

She understands the need for it all, of course -- the safety secrecy affords them, and the truth behind Dumbledore's words. But before she became whatever it is she is now, Molly is a mother, and seeing the ruthlessness with which Dumbledore sends her children into danger, she cannot do anything but worry and fret and be frightened, and even hate him, this worn old man sitting in front of her.

She wants to get up and scream at him, to yell that her children are not pawns for anyone to toy with, not lambs, and that if the choice comes between her children and the cause she does not know which one she will choose.