Marauders One Shots

The Order (S.B. / LE)

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, some angst? Sirius is a bit of a tit tbh

Word count: 3.2k+

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Teaching was a rewarding profession. Teaching at Hogwarts, however, was beyond rewarding – it used to be joked that in teaching, you would never smile until Christmas. At Hogwarts, that simply wasn't true. A smile graced your face every single day for every single class because teaching brought you this much joy. There were tough days, of course there was, especially after the rise of Voldemort; but still, you smiled for the students and tried to vanquish as many worries as you could. More and more time in your lessons was becoming dedicated to quashing any worries as the number of students coming to you for advice increased. After all, the students saw you more than they did their own parents as a result of the boarding aspect of the school.

It was this thought that spurred you to accost Dumbledore in his office one evening after the beginning of the school year.

"I want to help, Professor." You stated.

"How would you do that?" He asked.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I will not let one child in this school feel unsafe, Dumbledore. They spend more time here than they do at home. Help me help them feel safe." You implored the Headmaster – an attempt to appeal to the professor that still lingered within, that still could care for his student body.

Something sparkles in Dumbledore's eyes, "Come to this address on Saturday, there's a meeting taking place at 2pm. You might be the person we need."

You nodded, taking the piece of parchment from him, "I'll be there."

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Saturday rolls around quickly, the nerves have already settled in your stomach, your breakfast threatening to make an appearance as you floo from your respective home at Hogwarts to the address written on the parchment given to you by Dumbledore.

Confusion sets in quickly as you take in your surroundings: a residential street in a London borough – how could this help defeat the Dark Lord?

Then the buildings start to move; a house appearing as if from nowhere. You can't help but admire the craftmanship that went into conjuring this concealment spell.

Taking a deep breath, you walk up to the front door, knocking twice. Your nerves are raging now, your stomach feeling as if it has been taken over by butterflies.

A lady answers the door; she's small with fading ginger hair but her face is welcoming and warm as she ushers you into the entryway.

"You must be (Y/N). I'm Molly Weasley."

You smile at her, "I am. It's very nice to meet you Mrs Weasley."

She bats her hand at you, "Please, call me Molly. You must be who Dumbledore told us about, not that he tells us very much, mind."

You nod, at both of her statements.

She sighs, "No point delaying the inevitable. Come on then, we're all in the kitchen. Would you like anything to eat? To drink?"

"A cup of tea would be marvellous, if it's not too much trouble." You say, as you follow her to the kitchen.

"It's no trouble at all." She says, already heading towards the kettle.

You stand in the doorway to the kitchen, unsure of whether you should sit down or ask someone for help. Your eyes rake over the set up in the kitchen; a large dining table taking up most of the space where it is clear where this meeting would happen. Many men and women are already here, talking quietly amongst themselves and you can't help but feel as if you've intruded on something you shouldn't have.