Thrihyrne

...but from Remus' POV, and first person present tense, which makes me crazy if I read it for too long, but I wanted this to be fairly different since it is from his perspective. The last G/R story didn't actually have a lot of Remus in it (no beta takers yet, everyone must be busy writing their own stuff!!), so I wrote this vignette which will bridge from "All Men Make Faults" to the next one.

Because yes, I am George/Remus obsessed, and have already started on the third story.

~~~Interlude~~~

“Wouldn’t you agree, Remus? Nothing against you, of course,” she says, hastily.

In contradiction to her personality, her fiery hair has faded, the grey noticeably beginning its inevitable annexation of red locks. Molly looks to me for support about this issue, obviously unaware of her son’s nature. I place my cup of tea on its saucer, feeling more and more as though she knows me less and less. The time we all spent together at Sirius’ family home was many years ago now. She’s always seen me as an Order member, but not really as a man. This won’t be pretty.

“Well, Molly, George has come into his own, and I think-”

“Yes, mum, I am a success, and thank you for noticing.” George interrupts. He is wearing the same resolutely determined expression I’ve seen when he stays up late, grading assignments. “But as for spending less time gallivanting with Remus, as you put it, and more time with girls my age, well, that’s not going to happen.”

He takes a swig of butterbeer, then turns to look directly at her. “I’m not interested in girls. I mean, they’re great, but not in a settle down kind of way. Not for me. I’ve settled down with Remus.”

Her blue eyes widen as she stares at him, then purses her lips and turns her attentions to me. After a few moments, she jerks her gaze back to George. “If this is some kind of joke, George Xanadu Weasley, it is absolutely the worst that you have ever come up with.”

My parents had died before really knowing about me. I wonder if my mother would have been as traumatised as Molly seems?

“Not a joke.” He drums his freckled fingers on the table, those strong, skilled fingers that have caressed my body, inside and out.

She pales. “All these times you’ve visited - together - and you’ve never told me? You could have owled, even, you know. I am your mother.”

“Exactly.”

I open my mouth to say something, but Molly raises her hand. “Remus. Don’t say anything. Yet.” She shakes her head, myriad expressions on it, most of which I knew well at one time: shock, confusion, hurt, anger. “It was one thing for you to be involved like that with Black. I didn’t understand it, but at least you two were the same age.”

“Age has nothing to do with attraction,” George interjects.

I wonder what images have leapt to her mind. She looks decidedly uncomfortable, even more so when George takes my hand. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, but I thought you should know. Even Fred came around after a while.”

“Fred is dead.”

“You know what I mean.”

Molly sighs, then looks at me, then George, at our intertwined fingers. “This is a bit of a shock, you do realise,” she says, resolving herself to something, though I’m not sure what. Even if she does accept it, doing so this quickly would not be like her. “I’ll need to tell your father, George.”

“I can do it,” he insists, but she shakes her head forcefully. “You don’t understand. If it’s possible, he wants grandchildren even more than I do.”

George laughs, a barking sound. “That’s what’s bothering you?” His expression is incredulous. “You’ve got Charlie, Percy, Ron and Ginny for that. And you’ve already got three as it is!”

“This is not funny,” she fumes. “Each of you is unique. Even you and Fred.”

“Well, I’d always failed in your eyes anyway.”

“Never,” she says, eyes flashing. “You disappointed me sometimes, but that was ages ago. Surely you don’t still hold that against me, after all our family has been through.”

Dour silence hangs in the air, tangy on my silenced tongue.

“No, mum, I don’t,” George acquiesces, letting go of my hand as he gets up from the table to go and stand behind her. He enfolds her in his arms and she grasps them to her. George closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of his mother’s hair. “But if you love me, you need to accept this.”

Molly’s eyes shut. This is too personal. I shouldn’t be here, but George had asked me to join him.

“I do love you, George,” she whispers.

***

“Well! That wasn’t too bad, now was it?” George has his arms clasped around my waist, back in his flat.

I roll my eyes. “If that wasn’t bad, what is?”

“Ron will be horrified. Won’t want to talk about it, but Hermione will make him, and she’ll drag both of them over here in a matter of hours. Now that will be awkward.”

He disengages himself and pads off to the kitchen. “Pint?” he offers from the other room. “And then a celebratory shag is in order. No more hiding about stuff.”

He comes back with two beers, hands one to me and clinks the bottlenecks together. “Here’s to us,” he says. We both take deep swallows, then he pulls me by the hand to his bedroom.

“I never told my parents,” I tell him, and he turns around, steps close to me, sniffs at my neck and closes his eyes, smiling.

“I know.”

I look down slightly at his face, expressive eyes, and talented lips, which are forming some of my favourite words: “Want you. Now.”

My body is already responding to him when a crashing sound comes from the fireplace behind me.

“Bloody hell!” George exclaims. “Um, Remus, there’ll have to be a raincheck.”

“Calm down, Ron!” Hermione’s voice carries from the corner.

“Welcome to the family,” George says and kisses me.