Riddikulusly Unfaithful

“Ri—ridikulus!” she shouted, but the swirling blob only half transformed. Crack. Charlie was lying on his back, eyes wide and empty up to the sky, his chest torn apart, blood every where. “No! No!” she sobbed. “Ridikulus! Ridikulus!” her wand waved frantically. Crack. Charlie’s body transformed to Bill’s, sprawled on his stomach, spread-eagled, naked, and no legs, bloody stumps in their wake. “Ri—ridik—”



“Ridikulus!” Remus shouted, blasting the Boggart back into the cupboard. Molly sat shaking on the floor, sobbing. They’d been at it for an hour and he sighed. She was not a weak woman by any means, but the thought of her children in danger, of losing them; it was enough to be her undoing. He figured that most mothers, at least the good ones, would drive themselves mad in a helpless situation where their children were slain and there was nothing they could do about it. “I think that’s enough for this afternoon, Molly.”



Slowly she turned her teary eyes toward him. The confidence she had felt after she’d begun was now gone. She had come into the room, wand waving, ready to banish the bloody thing, and as soon as it had come out it had taken the form of Arthur being strangled by a very large snake until the man stopped moving completely. She’d had two good cracks at the Boggart, transforming it into a completely dismembered Ron, and a raped and battered, but still dead, Ginny. Remus had stepped in, giving her a few moments to calm herself before attempting it again. Most of the tries that followed resulted in similar efforts.



He frowned. Never in all his years training against Boggarts and nasties of the like had he ever encountered someone who’s worst fear shifted nine different ways. And unfortunately she did not seem to have any one person of her seven children, husband, and Harry that she seemed to fear most for, each one appearing equally in turn, though he thought that Percy had appeared once or twice more than the others. Settling on his knees beside her, he handed her a handkerchief, which she took in trembling hands and blew her nose. “Th—thank you…” she muttered.



“I think you’ve worn yourself out, Molly.”



She was quiet, her face showing, for the first time that he could remember, many etched age and worry lines. It made him frown. He knew that he looked haggard and worn but it was a disease mounted on top of stress that tore his body into that look, she was merely victim of too much worry, fear, and trouble. “I’ll go…” he started. “Why don’t we both go to the kitchen, I’ll make us some tea.”



Sitting at the kitchen table, Molly gazed into her tea, frowning though the tears had all dried up. “You can’t be hard on yourself,” Remus said. “It’s difficult.”



“My boys can banish that thing no problem.”



“Your boys aren’t worrying about the family the way you are. That’s not to say they don’t care, Molly, they’re just vigil-anties about it and rather than worry they plot revenge.” He took the seat beside her and a healthy sip from his tea. “Everyone has fears, Molly, yours just happen to encompass a great number of people because of your giant heart that’s filled with love and compassion.”



The teacup trembled in her hand. He placed his hand over hers, stilling the quivering cup and he found his eyes gazing into hers. “I feel so weak, so powerless.” She whispered.



“You’re a strong woman, Molly Weasley, you’ve held your family together and you’ve protected them.”



“Don’t you see, Remus? That’s just the thing! I haven’t held my family together! I’ve lost Percy!” Tears welled up in her eyes, troubled with worry, and she began to shake again. He took the teacup from her and set it down, moving to stand. “I’ve failed them!” she wailed, as he pulled her up into his arms.



“Shh…Molly, you’ve not failed them.” Both of his arms wrapped around the woman’s figure, embracing her. As her head fell against his shoulder, he again noticed the grays more prominent than the day before. “You can’t keep worrying yourself to death, you’ll look like me by the end of the week,” he tried to smile, though thought it wasn’t very funny. No one as young as either of them deserved to look as old as he did.



Although she didn’t laugh, his comical retort seemed to quiet her tears and she slowly lifted her head from his shoulder. “Is the gray that noticeable?” she frowned. Remus laughed, and she laughed too, both grateful that the subject had somehow shifted.



“You know I’m sure Severus could brew you up something for that.”



Molly rolled her eyes. “Why couldn’t it be him dead in front of the cupboard, I’d have no problem banishing that…” He was rather surprised to hear such odd words from her lips, but welcomed them anyhow as they were a blessed change from her sniffling, self degrading mantra. “Thank you for trying.” She added.



“It’s my pleasure, Molly.”



“What on earth would I do without you?” A rare smile crossed her lips and she hugged him once more. Her lips grazed the corner of his mouth as she went to kiss him, and his whole body stiffened. “I suppose I should get dinner started.”



“I’ll help you, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”



Molly beamed and then drew her wand, banishing pots and pans, knives and things of the like from out of various cupboards and drawers. “Well that’s a gracious offer. Dinner for the Order can be such a hassle. I’m certain we’ll have an overly crowded table tonight, what with the meeting and all…” she cast two large pots of water to the stove, setting them on so that they could begin to boil. “Though I do wish Severus would stay for a meal, he’s looking entirely too thin these days…”



“I’ll see what I can do to convince him.”



“And you too, Remus, you’re all skin and bones, you should eat more.” He nodded. They worked companionably for the next hour, preparing things for dinner, little comments about various Order members being their selected topic of discussion. He was glad to help her out, and even more glad to see her in somewhat high spirits as they chopped vegetables, prepared meat, and made bread. But Remus could not take his mind from that awkward sensation that had risen in the pit of his stomach when her lips had brushed his. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about it, but found that the more he thought about it, the more dangerous of a thought it became. It was going to be another long night.