With every bone in his small body, every minute he spent with her, every loving look at her son and gentle term of endearment when she rested a hand on his shoulder or ate at the table with him, he envied it. Ricky envied how he’d second-guess his every move around Ms. Weasley, walked on imaginary eggshells because he’d only ever known a sidewalk paved in broken glass when Remus never thought twice about his mother’s actions or his own, never worried if he stepped too far or not far enough.