A/N: Please go back and read Chapter 11, 6 Years And An Important Update, before reading the "real" Chapter 11 below. There, you will find an explanation about why I'm back, what to expect from the story, and new directions I'm taking it in. It was far too long to put before an actual chapter, but it's information I would appreciate everyone taking a bit of time to read. Any questions about that authors note, feel free to drop me a PM or leave it in a review. Thanks, and on with the show!

Chapter 11: The Dinner

The funny thing about critical moments in life is that they often happen during the most mundane events. Half the time, one isn't even aware of just how monumentally things have changed, how there is no opportunity to go back, until long after the dust has settled.

It's only after, when one has time to reflect, that the warning signs are there.

So, when the sun had slipped behind the horizon, and the Order was still shut up in the kitchen, but no voices were heard, and the smell of mouth-watering roast beef wafted into the den, Harry should have realized that something was about to change.

Instead, his stomach grumbled approvingly. Roast beef! That was something he hadn't tasted since his last days in Hogwarts. The Durselys never "wasted fine food on scum", and having to feed so many mouths these days at the Burrow meant meals had to be hearty but simple, with as minimal waste as possible. Looking around at the others, he could see he wasn't the only one delighted by this rare treat.

"I didn't know Mum still had a roast hidden somewhere!" Ron said, eyes lighting up.

"Tell me she's got mashed potatoes on the side," George chimed in, eyes turned towards the kitchen door. "Fluffy with pounds of butter and milk."

"Don't forget Yorkshire pudding," Fred added, and the twins shared a grin that hadn't been seen in weeks.

Beside him, Hermione was frowning, a crease forming between her eyes. But, Harry and his stomach were far too caught up in the fantasy to notice. They all took turns, adding their favourites, until they were half-expecting an 11 course meal fit for a king. The scent only became more inviting as the minutes crept by, and still, there was no voices coming from the other side of the door.

"It's been 20 minutes, I can't be tortured by this smell anymore," Fred moaned, glancing at his watch. All eyes fastidiously avoided Mrs. Weasely's famous clock on the wall. All the hands were pointed at "Mortal Peril" except Percy's, which had clattered to the floor with a sickening clang the day he died. No one knew where the hand was now, though Harry suspected Mrs. Weasley carried it on her at all times. More than once he had seen the distinctive shape in the pockets of her apron.

"Well, you lot can sit here, I'm going in and getting first slice," George stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"Not if I beat you to the table Forge, the first slice goes to the best-looking." Ron clambered to his feet as well, for a brief moment, the old brotherly rivalry playing out as if everything was normal.

"Get bent you two, I'm getting there first!" There was a mad dash to the door, the three brothers shoving each other to be the first ones, with Harry and Ginny hot on their heels. The door burst open, everyone jostling each other, exchanging insults, until they caught sight of the scene in front of them.

The roast was on the table. And, just as George and Fred had prayed for, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. A wine bottle that looked like it had the dust hastily wiped from the label was placed in the centre, along with various other side dishes and goodies. It was the best meal they had had their entire time at the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley stood at the head, her face oddly calm, smoothed of the grief she had been wearing for weeks. She didn't react as her children crashed through the door, making more noise than they rightly should. She simply gazed at them, with an expression Harry had never seen.

It was then that the unnatural energy of the room washed over him, enveloping him in an anxiety unlike any other. No one was speaking, no one was looking at each other. It almost seemed as if they had stepped into a wax museum, and were gazing at a wizard family frozen in time, capturing what life had been like before the world turned to hell.

Instinctively, Harry's eyes sought out his godfather, sitting at the furthermost corner of the table. He too was wearing an inscrutable expression, eyes with the same shuttered look he had worn fresh from Azkaban. Feeling the weight of Harry's gaze, Sirius inclined his head to Harry's usual spot next to him, and Harry obliged, feeling a strong sense of dread settle over him. Wordlessly, the others followed suit, taking their respective seats and glancing at the adults for some sign of explanation.

"Sirius-" but his godfather's hand wrapped tightly around his forearm, silencing him. He still wasn't looking at him, his eyes locked on Molly Weasley, who was staring almost serenely back. Harry tried to gently pry his arm free but Sirius thwarted him, face never turning his way.

"This looks delicious, Mum," Ron spoke with caution. No one had moved towards their plates and the realization that Mrs. Weasley hadn't cooked since his birthday dawned on Harry. Mrs. Weasley spread her arms wide, sweeping the table before sitting down, eyes not leaving Sirius.

"Enjoy." There was no warmth to the words. Gingerly, Ron pulled the roast towards him, fulfilling his proclamation of having the first bite. The twins were preoccupied, staring at their brother Bill who had his fingers laced together in front of his lips.

The gentle clinking of cutlery was all the noise in the room. Sirius had finally relinquished his grip on Harry, but he hadn't touched his plate. Harry was growing more anxious by the second, sensing that something was seriously off-kilter.

It was true, that for weeks, cabin fever had been setting in. It was only inevitable with so many people cooped up in such a small place. Heated words were often exchanged in hushed tones, blame was tossed around with ease at the slightest provocation. But, this dinner was different. The atmosphere was thick, the occupants of the table moved carefully, fearing striking a match in what felt like an imminent explosion.

After what felt like a lifetime, Dumbledore wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, surveying each and every one of them individually. When his eyes landed on Harry, the teen looked away, not wanting the feeling of being x-rayed, a sensation that seemed to only ever come from Dumbledore or the late Potions Master.

"The time has come... for decisions to be made." It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Harry felt a strong hand on his shoulder, grip just as vice like as it had been on his arm.

When no one spoke, Dumbledore pressed on. "We do not know how many survivors are out there, Muggle or wizard, but we know there are some." Another pregnant pause. Harry was scarcely breathing. "And it is time... that those of us who strongly believe it is our duty... help them fight back against the undead."

Time stopped for the briefest of seconds. Harry could hear his own heart throbbing in his ears before the silence popped, and sound came rushing back.

"Well it's about bloody time!" George exclaimed in an uncharacteristically aggressive tone. Fred nodded emphatically in agreement, straightening in his chair. "We've been waiting for this!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exchanged a glance, the boys arranging their faces to be as battle-ready as possible.

"When do we start packing?" Ron asked, pushing his own plate away. "And when do we-"

"No."

All heads snapped to the edge of the table. The tone had been soft, but with an undertone of steel. "The Weasleys stay here."

The howls of protest were as predictable as they were loud. "What?!" the twins shouted in unison, with Ginny and Ron each expressing their outrage. Mrs. Weasley remained calm, her gaze unflinching as her children rained their displeasure down on her.

"We're of age! You can't tell us what to do!" Fred's voice rose, drowning out his two younger siblings who looked to their brother to right this wrong. "We want to fight, we're going to fight!"

"And I'm not staying behind either!" Ron added. "Harry's going, isn't he?!" Harry looked to his godfather, who after a beat, nodded, staring at Mrs. Weasley as he did so. "Exactly! And if Harry's going, so am I!"

"Harry's decision is not set in stone," and like Sirius, Mrs. Weasley was not answering her son. "He has other options, other adults who have his best interests at heart." The grip on Harry's shoulder was painful.

"Other adults who have no business making my godson's choices for him."

"And what makes you think you have any sort of authority?"

"What makes you think you do? He is not your son," the words were barbed. Harry had never seen Sirius speak to Mrs. Weasley like that.

"He also isn't James! He isn't your schoolboy chum returned, just off on another reckless adventure together!" What little colour there was drained from his godfather's face.

"Molly..." Arthur murmured, shaking his head ever so slightly. But, Mrs. Weasley ignored him.

"Where have you been? Was it you who helped him get to school when he was a scared 11 year old, desperately looking for a friendly face at King's Cross? Was it you who housed him and fed him every summer, sent presents every birthday and Christmas? He may not be my son but he's as good as!

"You're so eager to get out there and redeem yourself or," and she let out a breathy, hysterical laugh, "go out with a bang, you'll drag Harry along into a certain death! He isn't James, he's a 15 year old boy and just because the lot of you," her eyes quickly darted around to the rest of the Order, "have a death wish, doesn't mean he does! He will always have a home in the Burrow and there's nothing you can do that will take that away!"

She was breathing heavily, face flushed and wild, more alive than Harry had seen her since Percy's death. The hand on Harry's shoulder was shaking, before it slid away slowly as the owner stood up, a vein jumping in his jaw.

He strode over to Mrs. Weasley, and for a second, Harry was afraid he might strike her. Mr. Weasley apparently had the same idea, because his wand was drawn, watching Sirius' every move.

His godfather was inches from her face. "He is my godson and no amount of fucking Christmas presents, or fucking roast beef dinners, or fucking grand-standing speeches of yours will take that away," he hissed, every word dripping with venom. With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him, making them all jump.

A roaring silence fell, and Harry's ears were ringing. A million words begged to burst from his lips, but he wasn't sure what to even say. There was a part of him that was touched, and a little bit surprised, Mrs. Weasley saw him as a son. He knew she cared for him, he wasn't stupid, but on a level like this?

Yet, he was indignant at Mrs. Weasley for bringing up his Dad, for talking to Sirius as if he hadn't risked his life twice in the last month alone to keep Harry alive. She didn't know about their pact, about how Sirius was one of the only people besides Ron and Hermione he trusted to have his back no matter what. He swallowed thickly, his respect for Mrs. Weasley taming his loyalty to Sirius.

"Mrs. Weasley," he spoke quietly, conflicting emotions still roiling. "I... I'm going with him." He pushed himself up, not wanting to be in this smothering room any longer, and followed his godfather out the door.

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

"No offence mate, but I was close to slugging Sirius back there."

"I can't even blame you," came the tired reply.

They had locked themselves in Ron's room, and Hermione had performed a charm so that their conversation couldn't be overheard. The Chudley Cannons raced around them, and a part of Ron felt like tearing the pictures down. Stupid really, to still have them up, when the entire team was probably flesh-eating monsters. It was time to grow up, and be a man.

The injustice of having to stay behind weighed on him. Ron had always been a bit of a restless spirit, one who was more sensitive to monotony than most. Perhaps it came with the territory of living in a house bursting with constant activity, where boredom was a foreign word. The past month had stretched on like an endless yawn and Ron couldn't take the prospect of staying caged any longer.

"Do you really think Fred and George will leave?" Hermione asked, fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. Ron shrugged, feeling very bitter that his older brothers were of age and he was not.

"Dunno, probably." Hermione chewed on her lip, looking torn.

"Even with Bill staying?" Ron couldn't sit anymore. He got to his feet and stared hard at his beloved posters. The Seeker, Oliver Bradley, waved at him from his wall, performing a backflip on his broom.

Ron felt a swell of fear that he didn't want his best friends to see, and he ripped the poster down. Hermione let out a small gasp, but said nothing, which Ron appreciated immensely.

"They said they want to find Charlie. I mean, they're right," and he tore down another, this one with the whole team beaming at him. "It's not the whole family without him, and he could be in the safe-zone!" There had been rumours circulating on the radio that the Balkan countries had managed to escape the worst of the outbreak, though which country exactly was home to the "safe-zone" always seemed to change. Nevertheless, the moment the Weasley children heard Romania bandied about as a possibility, the idea of going to Charlie cemented itself.

And, if Ron was honest with himself, he needed to believe Charlie was alright. As much as he and Percy clashed, he couldn't deal with another loss. He couldn't.

No one said anything for awhile, Ron continuing to take down all his posters, needing something to do, the feeling of accomplishing something. The reality that the trio, who had been through hell and back together, would be split apart, weighed on all of them.

"What will you do, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, when Ron had finished chucking all the posters in the bin. The red-head sat on the bed beside Hermione. He was close enough to catch the faint whiff of her shampoo.

She shook her head, not looking at any of them. "I don't know. We've been surprisingly lucky so far. We only saw that one zombie, and the repelling spells seemed to work. Maybe it would be smarter to stay here... focus on surviving..." But, Ron could hear the dread in her voice and he couldn't blame her. The thought of being in the house alone with his family, without his friends, never knowing who was alive or dead, sent a shiver down his spine.

"You should go," he muttered. "They need you out there; you and Tonks and Harry. There's no point sitting here waiting to get torn limb from limb."

"Ron!" Her face was white, a soft hand reached out and grabbed his own. "Don't say that-just don't."

"It won't be any better out there," Harry murmured, a dark look crossing his face. "We barely made it out of Grimmauld Place, and that was six against two."

Despite their restlessness the past month, despite all the bravado about going out there, mowing down zombies, finding a cure, and making everything normal again, the three teens realized just what was in store for them.

And they had to do it without each other.

"Well," Ron said, tone thick with sarcasm, "be sure to write." Hermione shot him an exasperated look before her eyes widened with realization.

"Wait... do either of you have some spare parchment lying around?"

"Uh, should be some in my desk, but I was joking, Hermione," Ron gestured to the disaster-zone of a desk. Wearing an all too familiar expression of determination, Hermione rummaged around the rubbish until she found one of suitable length. Deftly, she folded it into three, tearing them carefully and handing them to the two boys.

"We're going to be separated, I- I don't think we can avoid that," and she let out a shuddering breath, "But, we should still communicate with each other." Ron looked at the slightly crumpled parchment with a raised eyebrow.

"I left Pig back at Grimmauld Place and we haven't seen Errol all month." Harry said nothing about Hedwig, and Ron had the sense not to ask. "Besides, owls are just going to draw attention."

Hermione let out an annoyed huff, the kind she gave when Ron asked her to help with his homework, and he couldn't help but feel his cheeks warm at that. "No Ronald, not owls." She tapped her wand against the parchment, and a blue glow began emanating from all three. Grabbing a well-worn quill, she scrawled Test, Test.

Ron's eyes widened when the words appeared on his own piece. They all exchanged a look, Ron once again marvelling at how brilliant Hermione was.

"Hermione this is fantastic!" Harry said, and he tried it out on his own paper. "Where did you get this idea?" She looked sheepish.

"Er, well, You-Know-Who's diary to be honest. When you told me how you could write to him and he wrote back I started... experimenting..." Ron laughed, feeling some of the gloom lift. He wouldn't be alone, he wouldn't spend nights wake wondering if his friends were alive or dead. And hell, if it all got too much, he could know where to find them.

Hermione Granger you are bloody brilliant.

She read her parchment and turned pink, catching Ron's eye before looking away.

! ! ! ! ! ! !

Sirius needed a drink.

He had been sitting in the garden for hours, not caring if it was dangerous and stupid and asking for a zombie attack. He hadn't felt the sun on his skin in weeks, and God he couldn't stand to see those faces for one more second. Even when Harry had come to find him, he barked at him to get the hell inside, ignoring the immediate guilt that pooled in his stomach at his godson's face.

Sirius had always loved to drink, perhaps loved it a little bit too much. Alcohol was a great companion in helping ease the constant darkness lurking in the recesses of his mind. He didn't have much these days in the way of relieving tension, and besides, everyone had a vice. He never slapped anyone around like his father did when Orion had had one too many. In fact, booze brought Sirius to sometimes dizzying highs, where everyone was his friend, and nothing could touch him.

Well, no time like the present to relive old habits. They would soon be leaving the safety of the Burrow, venturing out into a gruesome death, so why not have one last hurrah?

But, when he arrived in the kitchen, a certain red-head sitting at the table with her own glass of Firewhisky derailed his plans.

For a moment, he thought about leaving. He could already feel his anger rising at the mere sight of her, the words she had spat playing mockingly in his mind. She looked just as surprised as he at his entrance, and Sirius felt vindicated when she was the first to avert her eyes.

His craving won out, and he grabbed himself a glass and got comfy.

An hour of pointed silence passed, the pair taking turns pouring from the bottle until it was empty. When Sirius shook the last few drops into his glass, he chanced to look at his distant cousin.

"Any more of this stuff lying around?" She wordlessly summoned another, and Sirius cocked an eyebrow at the thick layer of dust. "You don't drink much do you?" he remarked, sliding the bottle over.

"There's no time to drink with 7..." her breath hitched, and she filled the glass to the brim. "A house full of children." Despite his rage towards her, Sirius wasn't heartless. Molly, unlike his own charming egg donor, truly cared about her children. She should have never outlived any of them. He lifted his glass, with nothing but sincerity.

"To Percy." Her eyes widened at the gesture, before, lips trembling, she raised her own goblet, choking on the name.

"I never got to bury him," she broke the thick silence abruptly. "That's the worst part of it all. No closure, no goodbye, no time to tell him... that no matter what mistakes he made... he was always my son... my boy... and..." her voice broke, and she drank another gulp. Sirius' heart clenched. Images of Pettigrew flashed across his mind's eye.

"I know what that's like. It never goes away." The alcohol was beginning to take hold, and Sirius relished in the feeling of his senses slowly giving way. Remus had chastised him for relying so much on booze while at Grimmauld place, but to hell with it. The world was over, who cared if he drank too much?

"That will happen to Harry," she said quietly and Sirius' set his glass on the table with a thud. She was really bringing that up? Really?!

There was no ice in her voice, only defeat. She looked so much older than when Sirius had first met her, shoulders slumped and face drawn, nursing her glass of whisky. It was that sight that deflated his anger, and instead he looked at her intently.

"Why are you so insistent that I'm a shit godfather? Do you really think I want Harry to be eaten or turned into..." He couldn't bring himself to speak the words to life.

"No," she admitted, finally meeting his gaze. "But, I think you forget who he is, Sirius." He frowned at her.

"I know exactly who he is. Harry is my- godson," he slurred somewhat, and he frowned at the other word that danced on his lips, that shameful word that he had no right to claim. He glowered at the amber liquid for playing with his mind.

But, Molly was adept at picking up those subtle cues, and she regarded Sirius as though she was seeing him clearly for the first time. The second bottle between them was nearly through, and she downed the rest, barely noticing the burning sensation in her throat.

"You love him." It was a statement, and Molly leaned back in her chair, all remaining aggression vanishing. Sirius rolled the muscles of his neck, discomfort pricking his stomach. Love. This wasn't a word he used, wasn't a word people had used towards him. He couldn't recall if he had ever really said it in his 30 odd years on Earth.

"You got any scissors around here?" he spoke louder than necessary, tugging at his elbow-length hair. "Figure if I'm heading back out to the front lines, shouldn't give those things easier access to my brain."

She got unsteadily to her feet, rummaging around in her sewing basket before levitating the scissors over. "We're out of Firewhisky" her own words were running together. "There's the wine no one touched at dinner."

"Fill 'er up," he replied, sloppily grabbing chunks of his hair and hacking them off. It was a strangely cathartic sensation, feeling the hair slide through his fingers and onto the floor. He should have done this ages ago.

She regarded him over her wine glass, clucking her tongue as only a mother could at the results. "Look, you've made a mess of it. Here, I cut the boys' hair all the time," and she made her way over, gripping onto the table as she did so. Sirius chortled, but didn't protest, pouring a generous serving of wine.

"You'll stab me through the neck, you wench," he said, without any malice. She laughed, and Sirius wasn't sure he had ever actually heard Molly laugh.

"I'll only give you a flesh wound, you deserve it with all the nasty things you've said about me." Sirius grinned, and it was all suddenly very funny, all their fights, their insults. Almost everyday, even before the apocalypse happened, he and Molly went toe-to-toe.

Things were beginning to get hazy, the world beginning to bleed into itself. "I would die for him, you know."

She paused in her concentration, staring down at the mass of black hair.

"And I'm fucking terrified of going out there. I keep thinking it's a mistake, that I'm going to lead him straight to death, and it'll all be for nothing. But, we can't stay here forever." He was swaying in his seat somewhat, more vulnerable than he had allowed himself to be with a person in a long time.

"You're right," she remarked quietly, letting the scissors clatter to the table. "This house will be my children's grave." He stood up, and they exchanged a long look, eyes struggling to focus.

"Are you sure you won't stay?"

"Are you sure you won't come?"

They each wore a sad, all too understanding smile, both gripping onto an object to steady themselves.

"Stay in touch. So that we know-"

"You as well."

He slid towards the doorway, catching sight of himself in the mirror at the foot of the stairs. His bleary eyes had trouble seeing straight, and he laughed once again, hugging the wall as he made his way upstairs.

"Only a mother could cut hair smashed and not completely fuck it up," he called down. She chuckled as well, not seeming to notice the tears trickling down her cheeks, her hand bunched up in the pocket of her apron.

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

"So you got drunk with Molly Weasley?"

Sirius was laying on the floor in the room Remus and Kingsley shared, his throbbing head unable to deal with neon orange this morning. The cool wood felt wonderful against his cheek, and he concentrated on not vomiting by focusing on the crossed legged knees of his oldest friend.

"In a manner of speaking," he murmured, voice slightly muffled from having his face pressed against the floor.

"And she... gave you a haircut." He could hear the incredulity in Remus' voice, and he let out a snort.

"More like finished one." He shut his eyes, and for a blissful second, he could pretend as if he was 17 years old again, laying in the dormitory as Remus tried to coax him into going to Muggle Studies (a class he took purely to spite his mother), after a wild night with James.

"We should set up a way to communicate before we leave," Remus said softly. "It wouldn't be right to leave without giving them any way to reach out to us if they need help." Sirius didn't respond, fixating on pretending the nearby village wasn't overrun with zombies, and that his godson was probably going to die at 15 years old.

"I... have to admit, Sirius, I worry you're right. That the Weasleys are signing their death warrant." The legs stretched out, and a blood-shot grey eye looked up at the werewolf. "It feels wrong to split up."

"Molly knows what she's doing," and Remus looked astonished. "Fuck Remus, we're all marching into an early grave, hell they'll probably last longer than any of us with all the protections on this place."

"Wow," and his friend looked even a bit proud at the sudden turn-around in Molly-Sirius relations. "That must have been some drunk talk last night." Sirius made a non-committal grunt, and his friend quickly grew sombre. "Does that mean you're re-evaluating going to the Prime Minister's office?"

Before Sirius could respond, there was a soft rap at the door. "Come in," Remus called out as Sirius ground out "Fuck off," at the same time.

"Sirius." It was Dumbledore, and Sirius struggled into a sitting position, wincing at the inevitable head-rush. The former Headmaster was standing in the doorway, and once the world stopped spinning, Sirius noticed he was dressed for travelling. Beside him was Harry, and Sirius frowned when he realized his godson too was wearing his jacket, a backpack slung around his shoulders.

Remus scrambled to his feet, hoisting his old friend up with him. "What is it, Albus? Is it time?" Dumbledore shook his head. Piercing blue eyes bored into Sirius, making the younger man tense.

"Something has happened," and there was urgency in his voice. "Harry and I need to leave the Burrow. Today."

A/N: This was a purely character driven chapter for two main reasons. Firstly, after so many years, I needed to crawl into these characters' heads again, and re-orient myself with this story in general, without having to also worry about action and gore on top of it. And secondly, this will be the last time we see this core group of survivors together, and I wanted to give them all one last chapter together. After re-reading my work and seeing how much tension and fights were written, I wanted to give some reprieve, especially between Molly and Sirius. I do hope those who enjoy action more won't be too disappointed, and will stick around for the next chapter.

Chapter 12 we'll finally move away from the Burrow. There'll be some new HP characters introduced, several new locations, and at long last ZOMBIES. And lot's of them. As always, any reviews are much appreciated, and I always enjoy getting feedback on my work! This chapter was a struggle at times, trying to do everyone justice (except Sirius, I seemed to slip back into his voice no problem!) so any constructive criticism in regards to characterizations is welcome.