In the end, it’s Molly who realises Scabbers is a fraud.
She’s cleaning Bill’s bedroom whilst her children shriek in the garden, Bill home for the holidays, and happy to be reunited with everyone. He’s only been back two nights and his room is already a tip, clothes and books strewn on the floor, festering mugs, toast crusts with specs of butter strewn across the old rickety chest of drawers.
And the rat. This was not the rat she had bought her son on Diagon; the rat she had paid an extortionate amount of money for had been black and white with endearing splotches around his eyes. This rat was dirty dishwater grey and shifty- black, beady eyes watching her as she spelled the floor clean and redressed the bed.
“Rat…rat…rat.” she muttered to herself as she made her way back downstairs, hearing the sound of male voices getting louder. Remus is sitting at her long kitchen table, looking like he has been since halloween- like he might keel over and die at any minute. His hair is horrifically prematurely grey, but it suits him somehow, a silver fox sort of look that she finds quite compelling. Arthur, lovely Arthur, is murmuring to him, a pained smile on his face and a large, warm hand placed delicately atop one of Remus’ scarred ones.
This isn’t an unusual sight, Remus is in her house more often than he isn’t, entertaining her boys with long suffering smiles. Even now, Ron is asleep, slumped against his chest, thumb wedged solidly in his mouth. He’s wraith-like, spectral. Skeletal and wan and waxy, his smiles always a bit too late and a bit too forced, his laugh almost non-existent. The children love him; a welcome change from their parents and a fresh face to bring stories of Hogwarts and their uncles that they don’t fully understand they’ve seen for the last time.
“My boys,” Molly says, warmly. “Stay for dinner, Remus? And I’ve made some scones just this morning, let me-” she bustles into the kitchen, piling up a plate with scones and collecting jam and fresh clotted cream and knives and side plates and floats them into the main room. Remus picks his way through a plain scone, refusing the jam or cream, but he’s eating, and as much as Molly views him as such he isn’t actually one of her sons, and she can’t strong arm him into eating sugar.
“Remus, indulge an old woman for a moment.” she starts, telling herself it’s nothing but nervous as she asks anyway.
“Hardly old, Molly.” Remus says, directing one of those soft smiles at her that softens up all her edges. She wishes he’d take them up on the offer to stay, and he could be a proxy Weasley, fed fat and satisfied at her table, safe under her roof. “What’s up?”
“My son’s familiar, I noticed something different about it when I was cleaning his room. Either rats can change colours, or he’s got himself a new one without telling us, and I can hardly imagine how he’d afford it.” She knows she was right to bring up her suspicions when Remus’ already pale face drains of colour, taking on a yellow nauseous tint, bringing his pink scars stark.
“A rat?” his hands tremble as he fists them on the table, and his voice is breathy and weak.
“Arthur, would you mind fetching Bill’s rat for us, luvvie?” Molly asks her husband, who nods and drops a kiss to her forehead on his way out. The brief contact from him immediately warms her, relaxes her. Lovely Arthur.
“It made me uncomfortable,” Molly confided lowly, leaning across the table. “I wasn’t sure if I’d started going insane with the war paranoia or what but that rat was watching me, I promise you.”
“I believe you.” Remus murmured, shifting Ron in his arms, brows furrowed.
“Mum! Fred’s using my broom!”
“Nu-uh! George is using mine!” The twins burst into the room, matching pouts on their little faces, clutching their training brooms.
“Boys!” Molly scolds and they both turn to Remus, wide-eyed.
“Hallo uncle Remus!” they sing out in uniform, and he smiles at them, giving them a wave. George darts over and gives him a quick squeeze, followed by Fred, and Remus ruffles both their hair, before they turn back on Molly.
“Switch brooms, boys, and back outside now, please. Tell Bill we’re having an important meeting and to keep you all outside until I get you for dinner, okay?” Molly tells them, voice stern and overly harsh but she can’t shake her anxiety, can’t shake the feeling that something bad is about to happen.
“Charms are holding, then?” Remus asks as they watch the two flaming red heads disappear back into the garden. Remus had erected an empty tent the month before and charmed it warm, so the children could play outside without freezing in the frigid winter air. It was just big enough on the inside for a pick-up quidditch game, and had been a lifesaver for when Molly needed some peace and quiet in the house.
“Here he is!” Arthur announced, rat clutched in his hands. “Wiley little bugger bit me and nearly escaped, but I’ve got him.'' He places the rat on the table and Remus immediately stuns it, and it slumps onto its side.
“I’m going crazy,” he mutters to himself, staring at the rat. “I must be going fucking crazy- Molly!” he snaps his head back up suddenly, staring at her. “Count the rat’s toes, please.”
“Alright…” Molly gently turns the rat towards her. “Oh- look there, he’s missing a toe.”
“A finger.” Remus mutters again, and it is anger that now mars his features, icy rage etched into the creases of his scarred and weathered face. “Right, apologies for this to you both, but Molly if you could please bring the children inside and keep them here. Arthur, if you will?” he stands abruptly, grabbing the rat carelessly and moving towards the front too, banging it open and striding out into the cold air. Molly hurries out and ushers the children in, setting them all up with scones and hot chocolate, appeasing them so they ask no questions, and she stares out of the window, but Remus and Arthur are legging it down the lane towards the woods that border the Burrow.
The next thing she knows, Dumbledore and Minerva are knocking on her door and sweeping in. Minerva’s face is pinched and unhappy and Albus is outwardly calm as always, eyes bright, but his hands are twisting nervously around the handle of his wand and he has lost some of his bluster. Then Remus and her husband return, lugging a body between them. Dead, maybe, or petrified. She hopes the latter.
The body is dirty, clothes torn, blond hair long and thin and greasy. The children are staring with great interest and Molly should tell them to leave but she finds herself frozen, memories of the war flooding back to the forefront of her mind, escaping the cage she keeps them oh-so-carefully locked away in.
“Mrs Weasley, could I bother you for a pot of tea?” Minerva asks, a gentle hand at her elbow, and Molly lets herself be ushered into the kitchen, and begins the mechanical process of getting the tea service ready. The front door bangs open and Molly hears Remus bark at the children to go up stairs now, and he never shouts- so rarely shows any emotion that isn’t weak happiness or profound, bone-deep sadness. The children, shocked at this display of emotion leave with little fuss and Molly hears the shuffling of small socked feet up the stairs and when that falls silent, there is a murmured silencing charm around the lower floors of the house.
And Remus starts to shout.
Molly has never heard the likes of it, this mild, meek mannered man, all knitted sweaters and shy smiles and reticence, shouting bloody murder at Dumbledore, no less. Minvera purses her lips and enquires as to whether there’s any cake, and Molly directs her to the pantry, never wanting for home-baked treats, and Minerva emerges with yesterday’s walnut and banana loaf and cuts it into modest slices as Remus shouts and shouts and shouts.
“Tea?” Minerva asks as the two women enter the main room again. The man is on the table, face up, and Molly shudders. His face is bloated and puffy, eyes small and glassy. One one hand is a badly-healed stump where a finger should be, and his nails are long and cracked and gnarled. Arthur is gaping at Remus, whose chest is heaving, cheeks pink and eyes blazing. Dumbledore is calmly gazing back, ostensibly weathering the storm.
“Please, Minerva.” Remus says, and his former professor passes him a mug with one sugar and a dash of milk, and a plate of cake. Remus takes it with a mindless smile and Minerva places a hand on his shoulder and Molly is struck by the sudden realisation that when Remus isn’t helping her wrangle her children, he’s with Minerva, and isn’t that equal parts odd and endearing.
“Are you quite finished, my boy?” Dumbledore asks and even Molly flinches because it’s condescending, it’s rude, and for all intents and purposes Remus is one of hers and she’ll defend him as such.
“Don’t you dare, Albus.” Minerva rebuts with barely controlled fury. She still has a hand on Remus’ shoulder and they could almost be mother and son- grey-brown hair, strong jaws, tall.
“The amount of bullshit you have put this boy through- that you continue to put him through- and that’s how you find it appropriate to respond? That after all this pain, and bloodshed, you still have to act so fucking high and mighty?”
Remus’ mouth is hanging open as he stares at Minerva and Molly assumes she must look much the same. Dumbledore’s cheeks are flushed a brilliant red from the scolding, and he just nods, shamefully.
“Remus, dear, why don’t you tell us what’s going on, hm?” Molly asks softly, and both he and Minerva shoot her thankful looks. Remus lowers himself into a seat and begins picking all the walnut pieces out of his cake slice.
“Well. if you hadn’t already figured it out, I’m a- I have lycanthropy. At Hogwarts, the boys decided to become animagi, because the wolf doesn’t hurt animals. They- they didn’t want me to be alone.” his voice breaks on this last part, and Molly steps up behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and dropping a kiss to his hair. It smells of lemons and cigarette smoke.
“James was a stag, Siri-Sirius a dog” He stumbled through the name, and Molly realises this could be the first time he’s said it out loud since Halloween, always avoiding talking about him. “And Peter was a rat.” he shoots a venomous glare at the frozen man atop her table and Molly suddenly understands.
“Oh, Merlin,” she mutters.
“Quite.” Minerva responds grimly, taking a step closer.
“So, you mean-” Arthur’s gaze bounces between everyone in the room, brow furrowed.
“Peter Pettirgrew isn’t dead. And Black might just be innocent.” Remus confirms, nodding.
There’s silence, for a bit, broken by her lovely Arthur, who compliments the cake, and suddenly they are all eating and drinking. A bizarre tableau, to take tea around the body of a potential traitor and fanatic, immobilised atop the surface her children eat from. The surface Charlie may or may not have been conceived upon, but Molly tries not to think about that in polite company.
Remus and Minerva stay as Arthur and Dumbledore take Peter to the ministry. Remus tried to insist on going with them but Molly declared him overwhelmed, and instead fetched Ron and placed her baby in his arms, letting him soak up the warmth and comfort only cuddles can bring, as she and Minerva discuss in the kitchen.
“Molly. I must thank you for looking after him. Remus is a special boy in many ways, but he’s especially special to me. He’s had an awfully hard time of it, and he needs a family. I’m glad he’s found one.” Minerva’s gaze is frank even as her words are emotional, and Molly isn’t sure what to do with it. Even as an adult now, Minerva still doesn’t feel like a peer, given that she herself had taught Molly however many years ago, and Molly still doesn’t know how to act around her.
“He’s one of mine now, what can I say? And it looks like he’s one of yours, too.”
“Hmm. my only one.” Minerva says pensively, and Molly smiles, how can she not? Remus is the first person (maybe, Minerva is so tight-lipped about her private life) to have warmed that cold exterior, and Molly can think of no one more deserving of Minerva’s unrelenting affection. “What do you think this all means?” Molly asks after a moment of silence. “I wish I knew.” Minerva sighs, and suddenly she looks her age, looks like the weight of her experiences have finally caught up.
“I don’t- Remus was always rather taken with the Black boy. I don’t know whether I should believe him or not.” Molly hums. “He knows him better than anyone, I suppose. But then again- we’re all blinded by love.”
“Love? We?” Molly is aware of her lack of tact but the words have been said now and she can’t take them back, can merely only watch as Minerva smirks- smirks- at her, and returns to Remus, cooing over the sight of Ron once again sleeping in his arms. Arthur comes back not too long later, looking and grim and telling Remus he’s been summoned to the ministry. Molly and Minerva don’t even have to say a word, they just share a look and know they’re both coming with him.
The ministry is just as awful as Molly remembers it to be, busy with knobheads who fancy themselves in ostentatious robes. Minerva’s status gets them seen to quickly by the welcome desk, and soon they’re descending into the bowels of the earth to get to the holding cells. Dumbledore is waiting for them, alongside Alastor, who greets them all with a huff and a curt nod.
“This way, then” he says, striding quickly down nondescript and identical corridors full of heavy, labelled doors and Molly feels a bit like her soul is being sucked from her, until they reach a door that Alastor stops at, twisting open with a yank, and waving them all inside.
“Remus! Oh, oh- Moony, old friend.” the voice is hoarse and grating and gravelly and horrible to hear. Molly hangs back by the door, as Remus steps further into the room, towards the source of the voice. The man looks no better for having been woken up, eyes rolling frantically in his head as he begs and pleads with Remus, who is immovable like marble.
“Don’t call me that.” Remus says, voice cutting, and Peter snaps his mouth shut, eyes bulging creepily.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Remus says, and Minerva steps up to him, placing a steadying hand in his lower back and Molly sees him lean into it.
“Remus, you have to believe me, I’d never- I wouldn’t-”
“Oh, but I think you would. Little Peter Pettigrew? Always the last to get a girl? Always in James’ shadow?” Molly has never heard Remus be so cruel, had naively thought he hadn’t the capability, but she can see that he is goading Peter, and it works.
“And yet none of you ever thought that pathetic Pettigrew could be the spy, huh? Black never guessed! James never-”
“WE WOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOU!” Remus howls, and it is an agonising sound, wrenched from the depths of his soul and Molly flinches despite herself.
“We would have died for you.” quieter, but no less devastating.
Remus bows his head. There's a knock at the door. “Do ye want to witness the questioning?” Alastor asks as he limps in, small glass vial in his hand. Remus nods, and suddenly chairs for four appear on the other side of the desk Peter is chained to. They sit down, Alastor in the middle, next to Remus, the women on either end, hemming them in. Peter casts his beady eyes over all of them, and Molly bares her teeth.
“Bottoms up, Pettigrew, there’s a good lad.” Alastor grunts as he forces Peter’s mouth open and tips the whole vial in. Peter shudders, retching, before his eyes glass over like a drunk. Molly has never seen anyone under Veritaserum before. It’s both fascinating and horrifying.
“Name?”
“Peter Pettigrew.”
“Age?”
“Twenty. Twenty one next may.”
“Did you betray the Order?”
“Yes.” Molly sucks in a breath. She hears Remus do the same.
“Did you persuade Dumbledore to make you the secret keeper?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Riddle told me to. Riddle said he’d reward me if I did.”
“Did you know he intended to kill James and Lily?” Remus grips his knees in Molly’s peripheral vision.
“Yes.” Molly reaches out and takes one of his hands. It’s clammy. She holds him tightly.
“Did you plant the rumour of me being the spy?” Remus speaks this time, voice steady but hoarse.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I knew they’d believe me. Most of them suspected you were a werewolf. James and Sirius didn’t want to believe me at first, but I told them it was revenge for the Prank. Told them you were still bitter. Told them they’d pushed you to the other side.”
Minerva gasps, and Molly desperately wants to know what Prank but Remus is beginning to hyperventilate beside her so she keeps all her questions in and grips his hand tighter.
“Is Sirius Black innocent?”
“Not in the eyes of god, if you know what I mean.” Peter leers lasciviously. It’s clear that despite the potion, he’s having fun. The centre of attention at last.
“Did Sirius Black betray Lily and James Potter and their son Harry Potter?” Moody asks, sighing and hyper-specific.
“No.”
“Did you kill the muggles that day?”
“Yes.”
“Is Sirius Black innocent of the events that occurred on the thirty-first of october, nineteen eighty one?” Remus again, always clever, always ahead of the curve. Peter smirks at him.
“Yes.”
Remus stands, knocking his chair over.
“I’ve heard enough. I’m going to see what they’re doing about Sirius.” He leaves, and Molly hurries out after him. Minerva stays behind to witness Peter’s downfall.
The day Remus goes to collect Sirius from Azkaban is a fraught one. Molly has already snapped at the twins enough that Arthur has taken all of them bar Ron out on a day trip, leaving Molly pacing the kitchen, making cakes and sandwiches and bread rolls and scones and drinking cup after cup after cup of tea in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves.
Minerva arrives around noon and help sort out the excess of food, piling some of it up on the dining table in preparation for a potentially starving visitor, before pulling Molly out of the kitchen and pushing her into her armchair and handing her her needles.
“He’ll need a warm jumper, wont he?”
“Oh, goodness, I didn’t even think! Of course-” and Molly is off, needles clacking, the repetitive motions finally a balm to her panicked temperament. She's halfway through the first sleeve when the door blew open.
“Remus! Come in, the both of you.” and then Sirius Black, Wizarding Britain’s Most Wanted, is in her kitchen. He looks awful. Hair is lank and greasy, his prisoner’s robes hang off his thin frame, his face is gaunt and his eyes are flat and empty. Remus helps him into a chair and Molly bustles off upstairs, collecting Arthur’s old work trousers and a thick sweater and bringing them down, before asking Minerva to help her with more tea so the boys can have some privacy, the conversation about love playing on her mind.
When they re-emerge some long minutes full of hushed conversation later, Sirius is bundled up in Arthur’s old clothes and clutching a mug of tea in his trembling hands.
“Something to eat dears?” Molly asks, piling their plates with sandwiches. Remus nibbles at his, breaking pieces off and hand-feeding them to Sirius in an action so heartbreakingly tender and intimate Molly feels compelled to look away. Ron starts crying from his little rocker and Molly goes over to pick him up, giving him a small hunk of scone to munch on, before mindlessly holding him out to Remus, who takes him in close, wrapping one arm around his back, as the other continues to feed Sirius.
“Thank you, Mrs Weasley.” Sirius says after a while, voice scratchy and posh.
“Thank you for being here too, Minnie. Quite the welcome home party.” he grins at Minerva, an irreverent, handsome thing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and looks distorted on the sallow skin of his cheeks.
“What was it you always used to say, Black? Ah yes- anything for our Moony.” Minerva said back, smiling into her tea as Remus blushed something furious into Ron’s hair.
“Could I- can I-” Sirius looks between Molly and Remus, holding his arms out, and Molly realises he’s bracing for rejection.
“Go on, love. Be gentle with him.” Remus carefully places Ron’s sleeping body into Sirius’ thin arms, helping him support the chubby baby’s weight. Sirius’ face is lit up with awe at the child in his arms, and for the first time since he entered her home he looks human.
Remus keeps one hand on Ron’s back, and the other is placed around Sirius’ shoulders, and a soft, chaste kiss is pressed to the side of Sirius’ pale face and he blushes something awful and Molly decides she’s gotten herself another son.