"It's just another war,

just another family torn."

Hero by Skillet

Molly Weasley was in her kitchen when the sound of knocking echoed through her house. Dropping her pie crust, the woman turned. Who could it be, she wondered. The children didn't knock. Neither did Arthur. They tried very, very hard to avoid the Lovegoods (what if their madness was catching?). The villagers tended to avoid them. Perhaps one of the Diggories, then.

The knocker was none of these. Instead, Molly opened her door to find Minerva McGonagall on her stoop.

Though startled, Molly was nothing if not a gracious hostess. "Come in," she said, stepping back to allow her guest entry. "And please excuse the mess. I'm making shepherd's pie for supper. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"That won't be necessary, Molly," Minerva sighed. The older witch's shoulders were rigid, her face tight. Whatever reason she had for coming was not a good one. "I have to get going very soon. I'll just give you the message and move on. No slight to your hospitality," she hastened to add, "it's just that this information is too delicate and important to trust to an owl."

Molly's eyes went wide. "What happened?"

Minerva swallowed, closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were full of fear and courage and determination and dread. "The Order of the Phoenix must fly again."

The other witch's jaw sagged. She blinked several times before managing to choke out, "What?"

"The Order of the Phoenix must fly again," Minerva repeated. "He's back, Molly."

Molly didn't have to ask who he was. There was only one he who could provoke such a response. "But that's impossible," she protested. "He's dead."

"Apparently not," Minerva sighed.

"But—but—how?"

"I don't know," the Transfiguration professor confessed. "Albus is being as tight-lipped as ever about that. All I know is that Mark Potter apparently had some kind of vision. Severus confirmed it. He's back."

Fear and horror clogged Molly's throat. She shook her head in desperate denial, but deep in her bones, the witch knew that Minerva would not lie about this.

"There will be more information at the meeting, of course," Minerva continued. "That is, of course, assuming that you and Arthur will attend."

"Of course we will," Molly replied. Arthur. Oh, Arthur, her dear blood traitor, who loved Muggles and everything they made, who had taught their children to snub the pureblood cause. They hadn't been targeted during the last war, thank Merlin for that, but what if the Dark Lord came after them this time? Four of her boys were just teenagers, and Ginny was only twelve. Twelve! How could they survive without their parents to protect them?

"Molly?"

The witch jumped, startled from her panicky thoughts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know," Minerva admitted. "It's an awful shock to take in. Truth be told, I nearly fainted when I heard the news."

Molly flushed. She strongly doubted that Minerva's reaction had been quite that extreme. "What is it that you had said?"

"The Order is reconvening tonight at nine. You're to Floo to Albus's office—he has a friend in the Department of Fireplace Regulation who set the connection especially for tonight."

"Hogwarts is the headquarters?" Molly squawked. "That's a school!"

"That's one of the orders of business, actually," Minerva explained, "finding a more suitable base. Albus thinks Sirius Black might have something to offer."

As always, the thought of Sirius Black reminded Molly of Peter Pettigrew. As always, the thought of that horrible man so close to her and her family made her shudder. "I would offer my own home, Minerva, but my children still live here."

"I understand," she said. "That's one of the reasons we're going for Sirius's home. He has no children."

"Poor man," Molly murmured, thinking of the reason that Sirius lacked wife and offspring of his own. "Do you know how he's doing?"

"I haven't often seen him about," Minerva replied, "but Albus has. He says that Sirius is holding up much better than expected, but he's become something of a recluse. Albus thinks that he's holed himself up in Grimmauld Place—that's the old family residence—and occasionally wandering through London, but other than that…." She shook her head sadly. "I believe that Remus is in contact with him, but of course they aren't as close as they used to be."

"A decade apart will do that," Molly sighed. Her heart ached for the poor man. "I don't suppose that Albus knows if he's eating enough?"

Minerva smiled slightly at the very Molly statement. "I suspect not. Bachelors are notoriously bad cooks, and I've heard unpleasant rumors about his house-elf. Kreacher is supposed to be more than half-mad."

"Will he be at the meeting?" Molly queried.

"I know that Albus wants him there, but he might be going in person to explain everything," she replied. "He's certainly not on my list of contacts." She drew in a deep breath. "And speaking of contacts, Molly, I hate to ask this, but…. I remember that Bill and Charlie's grades were quite good in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Molly's heart stuttered. "No," she whispered.

Minerva's eyes went uncharacteristically soft. "They're men now, Molly, and you can't stop them if they want to."

"They're both out of the country," the housewife protested. "They live there. Bill hasn't been to Britain since Charlie's graduation."

"Give them the choice," Minerva ordered.

Fire flared in Molly's gut. "They're too young," she snapped, "and if something happens to me and Arthur, they'll be responsible for the others' upbringing." Which she hadn't thought about until then, but was true nonetheless. If she and her husband went down, she wanted her children out of the country. Perhaps life on a dragon reserve or in Egypt surrounded by cursed tombs was not exactly safe and child-friendly, but if the Dark Lord was alive, they'd be safer by far overseas. She made a mental note to write them as soon as she and Arthur were done talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. "What time did you say the meeting would be?"

"Nine o'clock tonight," Minerva replied.

"I'll be there," she vowed. "Arthur too, I don't doubt."

"Thank you." Minerva bowed her head before exiting the house and spinning on her heel, Disapparating with a loud crack.

"What was Professor McGonagall doing here?" Ginny asked.

Molly started. She hadn't noted her daughter's return. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Why's Professor McGonagall here?" Ginny repeated.

"She had an invitation for your father and me," Molly replied. She tried to ignore the pang in her gut that said she was lying to her child. She wasn't. Minerva really had been there to deliver an invitation. "Say, when you go back to the field, could you send Percy back?" Though why Percy was at the Quidditch field she really had no idea. Knowing him, he was probably reading something dull and dry under a tree or trying to referee his siblings, who would of course ignore him.

"Okay," Ginny said, looking confused but unconcerned as she made her way to the field.

Molly watched her daughter amble away, envying her unburdened mind. Part of her—a large part—wished that Minerva hadn't come, hadn't told her the awful news about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. It was ridiculous, of course, because forewarned was forearmed, but she already missed the peaceful bliss of the morning.

Ginny's auburn hair disappeared over the horizon. Molly shook herself. Ginny would be fine. Her boys would be fine. Staring after them, fretting and practically chewing her nails, wasn't going to do anything. She had other things to do, like, like, like drafting a letter to Charlie and another to Bill to explain the situation to them. They had to know that their siblings were in terrible danger. They had to be prepared to take them in. She gnawed her lip, wondering who would take in whom. Percy was almost of age and could, in theory, take care of himself should the worst happen, but the twins would have to stay together and it really wouldn't be fair to load Bill (or Charlie) with three children and Charlie (or Bill) with only one. And would her younger children still be going to Hogwarts despite spending their summers abroad? On the one hand, Albus Dumbledore was the only man he ever feared, and the castle was full of powerful magical defenses, not to mention Order members. On the other hand, she wanted her babies as far from Britain as possible if things got as bad as they'd been last time. Oh, she hoped that Arthur got home early. They had so much to discuss before (or possibly after) the Order meeting.

"Mother?"

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin. "Percy. I'm sorry. You startled me."

Percy stared at her through his spectacles. "But you were staring at me as I walked over."

Molly flushed. "I'm afraid not. I was lost in thought."

Percy frowned. "Is something wrong, Mother?"

Something twisted in Molly's gut. Yes. Yes, something was very wrong.

"Mother?" Percy's mild concern morphed into alarm. He stepped forward. "You're crying. What's wrong, Mother?"

Molly swallowed hard, momentarily unable to speak. So much for keeping her composure.

"Mother?"

Marvelous. Now she was scaring him. Molly grit her teeth. Pull yourself together, woman.

Somehow, when she spoke, her voice barely quavered at all. "Come inside, Percy. We need to talk."

Obedient as always, her son followed his mother into the kitchen. "What's wrong, Mother?" he asked softly. "Should I pour tea?"

"No, no." She sat, gestured for him to sit. "Percy, have you ever thought about getting a job abroad?"

"Not really," he admitted, befuddled by the unexpected topic. "I've always intended to serve in the British Ministry. You know that, Mother."

"Then get a job that will send you abroad," she begged him. "Become an ambassador or a linguist or, or an ambassadorial aide. Please, Percy. Make sure you have a safe place outside of Britain."

The eyes behind the spectacles had gone very, very wide. "What's going on, Mother?"

She swallowed again. Her hands were shaking. Should she tell him? No, she decided. Not yet. Knowledge given can never be taken back, but knowledge kept can always be given later. Let him stay ignorant and blissful for just a little longer.

But she had to tell him something. Her tears and trembling and inexplicable words demanded some sort of explanation.

In the end, Molly settled on a partial truth. "I… Ginny might have told you that Minerva McGonagall stopped by. She had some… some very bad news. You know that Albus Dumbledore has connections everywhere?"

Percy nodded.

"He recently received some… some very bad news." Molly couldn't suppress a shudder. "I'm afraid that things will get bad in Britain these next few years, Percy, and if worst comes to worst, I want you to be safe."

Her son's eyes widened even further.

"Do you understand me, Percy? Please, please at least consider starting out abroad."

He nodded slowly. "And… are we all moving, Mother? Leaving the country?"

She hadn't considered it, but now that Percy mentioned the possibility, her brain whirred with thought. Molly was torn. The mother in her wanted to take her children and hide them away, make them safe no matter what else happened. Hang the rest of the world, just let her babies survive. But the Gryffindor in her wanted to fight, to defend, to protect.

But things weren't bad yet, right? And they'd caught him, Voldemort, right away. They'd found him before he could get his power base back, could potentially nip him in the bud. And if things came to a head, she could always send the children away. She hoped. She would have to write Bill and Charlie, probably Floo them too.

"Mother?"

Molly flushed upon realizing that she still hadn't answered Percy's question. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm just—just a bit distracted."

Percy nodded yet again, even more concerned than before.

"I don't think that we'll all be leaving, no. Certainly not yet. I'll have to discuss this with your father, of course, but I doubt we'll be leaving. But please, Percy, start looking into a career abroad. And please, please don't tell your siblings about this. I don't want them to worry."

Not yet, at least. She needed more information, needed it desperately. Nine o'clock couldn't come quickly enough.

"I have brochures upstairs," Percy said. "I could spend the rest of the afternoon going through them again?"

"That's a good idea. You can go do that, Percy."

Her urge to send him to fetch his siblings, gather them up where she could see them and keep them safe, was completely irrational. She knew that. She knew that. She was just being a mother, that was all.

She finished the shepherd's pie slowly, absently, nearly burning the crust because she was so distracted. That in itself was enough to cue Arthur that something was wrong. He came home, took one look at the crispy crust, and asked, "Did something happen?"

"Yes," she said. Acutely aware of Percy's silent presence upstairs, she began to explain Minerva's visit.

Throughout Molly's explanation, Arthur's face grew steadily paler. "Nine o'clock tonight?" he asked when she was done.

"At least one of us needs to go," she said.

"Both of us should," he mumbled, running a hand through his thinning red hair. "The kids are old enough—" The last vestiges of color drained from his face, leaving him gray-tinged and sickly-looking. "The children. What are we supposed to tell the children? What are we supposed to do with them?"

"I don't know what to tell them," Molly admitted, "but I was thinking that we could send two each to Bill and Charlie. Percy is almost old enough to live on his own, but the others…. But I didn't know if they would still attend Hogwarts or the Romanian or Egyptian schools abroad. If something happened to us, that is." She shuddered at the thought. She had shuddered an awful lot that day.

"Right," Arthur mumbled. "Right." He groaned. "Oh, Merlin, this means that Bill or Charlie will have to take Fred and George. Which do you think is worse, Molly, the twins in a dragon reserve or running amok among all those cursed tombs?"

"But that might not happen," his wife hurried to point out. "We don't know yet. We just don't know."

"Not until nine."

"No, not until nine."

The children would have had to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice that something was up with their parents. Arthur and Molly were jittery all through dinner, skittish and brooding, their shoulders slumped and their eyes haunted. They spoke very little, though all their children repeatedly inquired what was wrong. All that they would say was that they had a meeting at nine o'clock, that Percy was in charge and everyone had to be in bed by eleven, don't open the doors to strangers, stay inside. It was standard advice, delivered whenever they went to visit friends in the evening and didn't know when they would return, but it was delivered in such weighty tones that even Fred and George nodded solemnly and promised to be good.

Finally, finally, it was ten to nine and the adult Weasleys could depart. The Floo fire blazed green before them, lighting the way to Hogwarts. A quick spin and they were there, standing in Albus Dumbledore's office. The headmaster himself sat at his desk, fingers steepled, visage grave.

"Where should we go?" Arthur asked.

"We will be meeting in the library."

As Molly walked with her husband through the halls, she reflected that Hogwarts hadn't changed a whit since her own school days. The same dented armor stood in the same dusty corners. The same portraits wandered hither and yon, some calling out greetings, others ignoring her, still others asleep. The stones beneath her feet were the same stones that the Founders had laid, which schoolchildren had walked upon for over a thousand years.

But the world outside the timeless castle had changed. When Molly had attended, the Wizarding world had been at peace. It wasn't until she was out of school that the terror began. She and Arthur had eloped shortly after the war's start, nervous but protected by the heady cockiness of youth, not dreaming that the war would last so long. But it had. After Bill's birth, Voldemort began using Inferi. When Charlie came along, people had stopped calling him by name, preferring long titles like You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Percy had been born into a world where Aurors patrolled Diagon Alley, and no one dared step out of the house at night. By the time the twins were born, Barty Crouch and Mad-eye Moody were petitioning for permission to use the Unforgiveables—specifically the Killing Curse—against Death Eaters. When Ron arrived, she despaired that the war would go on forever. Then Ginny had come along, and she and Arthur had sat down to make plans for fleeing the country with their children. A war zone was no place to raise a child, much less seven of them.

But then Mark Potter had saved them all, and the Weasleys' plans to flee to Australia had been abandoned. Ron, Ginny, and the twins couldn't even remember the times of terror, and for that Molly thanked Merlin every day.

And now that might all change.

Quite a bit of the old crowd was already in the library. Old Mad-eye Moody was talking quietly with Sirius Black, who mostly just listened and nodded, and Remus Lupin, who seemed more tired and shabby than ever. Daedalus Diggle jumped when the Weasleys entered; then, seeing who it was, smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Three Heads of House—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff—formed their own little cluster, while former Professor and Head of House Severus Snape glowered at them from his seat by the shelves. Molly managed not to gawk at his stump of an arm—her children had told her all about that—but Hestia Jones kept giving it sidelong glances. Rubeus Hagrid loomed over them all, his knitting needles clacking furiously.

There were a few new faces, but, Molly thought with a sinking heart, not nearly enough. That slip of a girl with the outlandish hair couldn't possibly be a day over twenty-five, and that was a generous estimate of her age. Two more younglings who must have been brothers stood directly opposite Snape. One—slightly taller and thicker—was obviously nervous, his eyes darting from face to face. The other was calm, almost cocky, slouching as he leaned against the bookshelf behind him.

And there was one new face that Molly sincerely hoped would not be a permanent addition.

She and Arthur made a beeline for that new face, sitting alone in the front of the room. "Mark, what on earth are you doing here?"

Mark Potter's jaw set in that stubborn way he had, a way that indicated he wasn't particularly interested in listening to sense. "The headmaster said I could."

What had Albus been thinking?

Molly opened her mouth. Mark cut her off. "It was my vision that got us the first warning. Then Snape confirmed it because he'd apparently been in a Death Eater meeting. Professor Dumbledore said I could tell about my vision, but then he's sending me away." The boy scowled. "Even though Volde—sorry, You-Know-Who is my enemy and is going to target me, and this is just telling me that someone wants me dead without explaining when or where he's going to try to off me."

"I'm sure the headmaster will tell you everything you need to know," Molly assured him. Inside, she was seething. Poor Mark had suffered enough already. Now Albus was going to make him relieve a nightmarish experience yet again when he himself was just as capable of telling the tale? She had a few choice things to say about that, but before she could articulate any of them, the man himself strode into the room, Fawkes perched upon his shoulder.

Conversations around the room died down. Those still standing hastened to find their seats. A few people inclined their heads in respect.

Albus Dumbledore waited patiently for the room to finish readying itself. His eyes lacked their customary twinkle; his mouth its usual smile. He was grave and solemn, dressed in navy robes with a single red bird embroidered on the left breast, right above his heart. When he spoke, his voice seemed deeper than usual, thickened by sorrow.

"Let the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix now begin."

Because war doesn't just affect soldiers. It hurts their families, too.

I know that this has been a ridiculously long wait, and I'm sorry. I'm even sorrier to say that updates will be very, very slow for a while yet. I'm trying, but... *sigh* Like I said, it's going to be slow. Thank you for being patient.

-Antares