7: Queen Molly

                                    

                                          
"I see you've all met my mother," said Sirius, as they continued on their path to wherever they'd be dining.
                          
"Mother?" Hermione repeated incredulously.
                          
Harry and Sirius had already exchanged words, very short words, and Sirius, looking miserable, now moved to greet Y/N and Hermione. 
                          
"In the fle - well, canvas, I suppose." Sirius corrected himself. "I just told Harry, but this was my parents’ house, I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters - about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.”
                          
Harry was still avoiding eye contact, and hurried on ahead of them closer to Mrs Weasley.
                          
"What's the matter with Harry?" said Hermione.
                          
Sirius's face fell.
                          
"Isn't it obvious?" said Y/N. "He's upset that Sirius didn't contact him over his utter hell of a stay with the Dursleys."
                          
Sirius's face fell even more.
                          
"I've honestly never felt so ashamed of myself in my life," he said miserably. "And I'm in no way defending myself for abandoning him in his time of need, but it was Dumbledore's orders, and despite my protests, I had to do what was best for the Order."
                          
"This is your house, isn't it?" Y/N demanded. "Who is Dumbledore to tell you what you can and can't do?" 
                          
"Now now, I may feel horrible about it, but it is Dumbledore... whatever he does, he does for the best." 
                          
"Hypocrite." said Hermione. "In the letters you sent us, you wouldnt stop cursing him." 
                          
"For his methods being so unwanted, yes, but not for them being unneeded."
                          
Y/N tsked. 
                          
They followed Sirius to the bottom of the stairs and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.
                          
It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.
                          
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.
                          
“Harry!” Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet Harry and shaking his hand vigorously. “Good to see you!”
                          
Bill gathered about twelve scrolls into a pile and got up, passing both his suddenly energetic father and the somewhat smothered Harry, instead approaching Y/N and Hermione. 
                          
“Journey all right, Y/N?” he said, as though greeting an old friend. 
                          
Tonks answered before Y/N could speak. "Of course it was, my Apparation skill is flawless." she knocked over a candle on the table as she approached them, setting one of Bill's scrolls ablaze. "Oh - Sorry!" quickly putting it out. 
                          
Mrs Weasley caught Y/N, Hermione and Harry staring at the scrolls curiously, and hastily stuffed them into Bill's arms. 
                          
“This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,” she snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.