The Monster and the Murderer
Saturday, July 1, 1995
Molly’s face pinched and her eyes immediately began to water as she shut the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, casting the foyer in darkness.
With a flick of her wand, she lit the lamps, an oily, yellow light flooding the small space. Mold spores floated in the amber rays, reminding her of a snowy landscape on a Christmas card.
Priority Number One!
Wiping her hands down her front, as if she could cleanse herself of the floating particles, Molly stepped forward, trying not to look at the truly horrid umbrella stand as she passed.
She made her way to the parlor, trying to decide if she wanted to check on the kitchen or bedrooms first. She drew up short, mildly startled to find two men standing in the room, deep in conversation.
They were both painfully thin, but imposingly tall. They spoke with their heads close together, intimate and secretive.
Molly felt her blood pool in her feet as it dawned on her who they were.
Dumbledore trusts them, she reminded herself, but it was hard not to be frightened by the two men whose faces had been plastered on newspapers just a few years ago. One for murder. One for putting children's - her children's - lives at risk, wandering the halls of Hogwarts. The one who had nearly attacked her Ron.
A floorboard creaked beneath her and the werewolf looked up, fixing her with his blue eyes, which crinkled in warm welcome. The murderer turned and lifted a hand in greeting, a sad half-smile on his lips.
Molly forced a friendly smile, even as she felt her entire body tense with the sense of being trapped. She took a half-step backwards.
“Hello,” she said, her voice overly-bright. “I didn't realize anyone else would be here.”
The werewolf and the murderer - not a murderer - flicked their eyes towards each other, clearly engaging in a conversation Molly couldn't hear. The werewolf turned his attention back to Molly, leaning an arm on the mantle, a warm smile on his face.
“We could say the same of you,” he said with a note of irony. The not-a-murderer's mouth quirked and he turned, sweeping his arm magnanimously around the room.
“Welcome,” he said, with obvious bitterness. “To the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black!”
Molly stood frozen, her mouth gaping slightly. She wasn't sure she felt safe stepping any further into the room.
The werewolf's smile became a bit sad. “I'm sorry, we've forgotten our manners.” He cocked his eyebrows at his friend, urging him to play host.
“Ah!” the not-a-murderer said, in a voice that made her think he was a little mad or a little drunk - or both. “I'm Sirius Black and this here is my associate, Remus Lupin.” He gripped Lupin around the shoulder and gave him a little shake. Molly decided that he was, indeed, both mad and drunk.
They looked at her expectantly until she remembered that it was her turn for introductions. “Oh, yes, I'm Molly Weasley - I think you knew my brothers, Fabian and Gideon?”
Both men smiled with looks of regret and fondness. Sirius looked down at the ground and chuckled lightly. He grinned up at Lupin, looking reminiscent.
“Wasn't it Gideon who taught everyone how to do a kegstand?” Molly’s brows lifted in faint surprise, but she lowered them as the werewolf looked at her as if he could read her thoughts. It was unsettling.
“I don't think I was at that particular party,” he said in an odd tone, turning his gaze back to Sirius, his eyes warning the other man of something. Sirius didn't seem to catch on - or, if he did, he didn't care.
“Well, it was the drunkest I've ever been! Probably a good thing you weren't there or I'd never hear the end of it!” He tipped forward slightly, nearly losing his balance, but Lupin caught him in his arms, bracing himself while Sirius found his legs again.
Molly stood by awkwardly as they exchanged a few muttered words. Sirius straightened, looking surprisingly dignified, despite his drunkenness.
“Well, Molly, it's been a pleasure, but I've been informed that I'm embarrassing myself,” he said. His tone was light and joking, but there was an undeniable sharpness about it. Something bitter.
He gave her a small bow before walking stiffly towards the door, obviously attempting to avoid stumbling. Molly stepped out of the doorway to let him pass and caught a whiff of something smoky and sour - firewhisky, perhaps. Her nose wrinkled.
She turned back to find Lupin watching her with a tired, apologetic smile. She felt a cold jolt of horror at the realization that she was now alone with the dark creature. Man, she tried to correct herself, but it was hard not to imagine a predatory gleam in his eyes, even though all she saw there was weariness and something like sorrow. Hard not to picture his gentle smile turning into rows of razor-sharp fangs. His long, elegant hands warping into taloned paws.
As if he could read her thoughts, he jammed his hands in his pockets, stepping back until his back rested against the mantel. He dropped his gaze. Smiled softly to the filthy floor.
Molly felt a small flicker of guilt - sympathy, even - at the way he seemed to be apologizing for existing. Still, she was anxious to get away. She hated herself a little for it, but she couldn't help the unease curling in her belly.
“Well,” she said in a businesslike tone, sweeping the horrid room with her eyes. “It seems we have a lot to do.” Lupin nodded but didn't seem to pick up on her hint. She shifted nervously and tried again.
“I should probably start with the kitchen,” she said, taking a half-step towards the door. She couldn't bring herself to turn her back on him.
She felt his eyes studying her in flickering glances that made her skin crawl. She got the sense he was evaluating her, trying to decide something. She felt like a piece of meat, a helpless rabbit nibbling grass while a predator skulked in the bushes.
“I, er - I should probably check on Sirius,” he said, sounding oddly shy.
He walked along the perimeter of the room, as if he was trying to keep as much distance between them as possible, but Molly couldn't help but feel like she was being circled.
She felt the muscles of her neck loosen when he finally slipped through the door with a little wave over his shoulder.