Shut Down

When Arthur entered his flat, he was relieved George cleaned up earlier that day. The coffee table was repaired, letters sitting neatly on top. The mess and broken glass cleaned up. All Old Ogden's bottles and takeaway containers had been vanished by Ginny that Friday evening. The only alcohol in the place was the little bit left in his flask, which had been stowed in the back of a high cabinet.

Immediately, Arthur went into the bathroom. Even though he had just showered several hours earlier, he felt absolutely filthy. He stripped and tossed his clothes into a corner. The water was almost scalding hot when he stepped in.

Instead of reaching for the soap, he rested his forehead against the tile. The water soaked his hair and beard before running down the rest of his body. Tears soon mingled with the hot water. His body wracked with sobs. How could he have been so selfish and uncaring? How could he let things spiral so far out of control?

He couldn't remember the last time he cried like that. It had to have been when they brought Fred into the Great Hall.

Eventually, he took several deep breaths. Eyes closed, he lifted his face toward the showerhead and let the water run down his face. He wasn't sure how long he had been in there already, but he didn't much care. There was nowhere he needed to be. No one was waiting on him.

No matter how much he scrubbed or how much soap he used, he still felt disgusting. He only got out of the shower when cold water forced him to.

After he dried off, he dug out his pajama bottoms from somewhere in the chest of drawers. Since some time when Ginny and Harry were living with him, he had taken to sleeping in his clothes on the couch every night.

Once he slipped into them and tied the drawstring to keep them from falling down, he went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The mirror had defogged. A glint from his necklace caught his the reflection. This drew his attention to his scarred, pale chest. He brushed the marks the snake had left with his fingertips. He thought how everyone else would be better off if the Order hadn't reached him in time. If he had known how badly everything would go, how he would hurt everyone he cared about, how alone he would be, he wouldn't have prayed so hard that night in the Department of Mysteries.

He tore his gaze from the scars. A blue-eyed stranger stared back at him in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, he actually looked at himself, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't recognize himself. He wondered how no one had mentioned the change in his appearance. Perhaps, they didn't even notice. Dark circles under his eyes revealed how little he slept. The big, bright, sky-blue eyes that once gleamed and glinted had become sunken, bloodshot, dull, and empty. His face was red and blotchy with more wrinkles than he remembered. He absolutely loathed the beard. It made him appear years older – Or maybe that was just how he looked those days. Either way, the beard served its purpose even though his weight-loss could be seen in other areas. He came to the conclusion that people had to have noticed. They must have been too polite to say anything.

Having forgotten what he had gone back into the bathroom for, Arthur grabbed his watch off of the sink. He set it on the bedside table before crawling into bed. It wasn't late yet, but he was exhausted and saw no point in doing anything else.

He pulled the duvet up over his shoulders and clutched the Knut at the end of his necklace.

oOoOo

At the Burrow the next day, Conner came over for lunch. The night before, everything was too fresh and Molly was too exhausted to have any sort of deep discussion. Since Hermione was back at Hogwarts and Ron was at Auror training, this was the most opportune time for the two to talk.

Molly and Conner sat at the kitchen table with mugs of tea in front of them.

Conner was the first to speak. "I don't regret what I said last night. I meant every word," he said. "But when I saw you in that apothecary, I only meant to help. I didn't intend to – to fall in love with you," he finished in a whisper. "I should have taken a step back when I realized I was developing feelings for you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You can't help how you feel," Molly assured. "I may have sent some signals that indicated I wanted something more than friendship – and, perhaps, I did, but that cannot happen."

"I'm sorry I caused so many problems between you and your husband," Conner apologized. "I know how much you loved him."

"I still love him, deeply," she corrected. "And I fear I may have been too hard on him last night. I lost my temper and it wasn't only his fault. It was mine, too."

Conner set his mug down. "Molly, he's the one who got drunk and was being unreasonable. You trusted him. He lied to you."

Molly shook her head. "No, I don't think he did this time. I think he really did want to stop drinking. You know, his brother, Bilius, tried quitting a few times, but never could manage it. I left Arthur alone last night. Hours passed and I never even thought to check on him. What did I expect would happen?"

Conner sighed. "I have to admit, he did better than I would have in a situation like that at a day sober," he confessed.

Molly tucked some hair behind her ear. Staring at her tea, she said, "I think we should stop seeing each other." She looked at the Irishman and added, "Not altogether. Just not as often. I still enjoy having you as a friend, and I don't want to lose that."

"I understand," Conner said. "And if you ever need anything, you know I'll be there in a second."

oOoOo

Arthur awoke to an owl incessantly pecking at his window. With a groan and a lazy wave of his wand, he cast a silencing charm. The pecking stopped. He picked up his watch to check the time, but his hands shook so badly he had to set it back down to read it. Some sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes, causing his vision to become blurry. He couldn't tell exactly what time it was, but it was late afternoon. He dropped his head back down on the pillow and pulled up the covers. Why bother getting up if he had already missed most of the work day? He wasn't much in the mood for pretending he couldn't hear people talking about him anyway.

Night came and went several times. Arthur remained in bed. Owls that came to the window went unheard. His watch went unread. Knocks at the door went unanswered. Eventually, the shaking and sweating subsided then ended. He didn't have the motivation to eat or to even get up for a drink.

One time when he ignored knocking at his door, it turned into a loud banging. A calm, thundering voice called, "Arthur! Arthur, it's Kingsley! I'm coming in!"

As much as Arthur hated to see anyone, he couldn't make himself get up to stop Kingsley. He would much rather be left alone. A minute passed and Kingsley stood in the doorway to his bedroom. Arthur did not move or greet him.

Kingsley crossed his arms. "Well, at least you're alive," he said evenly.

Arthur wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or if he was being serious. Either way, he did not find it amusing.

"Are you ill?" Kingsley asked.

Arthur shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Kingsley narrowed his eyes. "Did you go on a bender?"

Again, Arthur shook his head so slightly Kingsley almost missed it.

Kingsley sat in a nearby chair. "What's going on?" he asked gently. "You've missed an entire week of work. You're not answering your door or any letters."

In response, Arthur rolled over. He didn't have the strength to speak.

Kingsley leaned forward in his seat. "Arthur," he prodded.

Getting the impression Kingsley would not leave him be, Arthur forced out a very weak, "Go."

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

Sure enough, Kingsley did not budge. Through the window, the sun set before he made another move. He stood. "Do I need to get Molly?"

"Don't," Arthur replied weakly, still not facing the other man.

Kingsley shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what else to do, Arthur," he stated before leaving.

Arthur couldn't make himself stop Kingsley. At least he was alone again. He closed his eyes and hoped sleep would overtake him.

oOoOo

A garden gnome ran in front of Kingsley as he walked the path to the back door of the Burrow. He kicked it in frustration. With a yelp, the gnome ran under a bush. Molly opened the door before he even reached the porch.

"Kingsley! What a nice surprise," Molly greeted.

Kingsley frowned. "I fear you may not think so when I tell you why I'm here," he confessed.

Molly's demeanor changed to match his solemn one. "Oh? Why is it that you're here?" she inquired, ushering him into the house. When they entered the kitchen, she made Ron go upstairs and fixed Kingsley a plate while he took a seat. Dinner in front of him, she sat as well.

"Arthur missed work every day this week," Kingsley began.

"Arthur doesn't live here right now," Molly interrupted.

"I know. I got that impression Sunday. And Arthur hasn't updated his personnel file, so I found out from George where he is staying. When he didn't respond to any owls or answer his door, I took the liberty to let myself in – just to make sure nothing had happened to him."

Molly twirled her wedding ring around her finger, worry etched on her face. "Is he alright?" she asked slowly.

"I'm not sure," Kingsley said grimly. "It doesn't look like he has been out of bed at least all day, maybe even all week. He barely spoke. The only two words he said to me, it seemed took all his strength."

"He's probably just drunk or hungover and doesn't have any potion," Molly said bitterly.

"No, that is not what this is. I have never seen anyone like this. That's why I thought I should tell you. I know you two aren't on the best terms, but if you see him and talk to him, maybe you could pull him out of it."

"Believe it or not, I do still love him, with all of my heart, and I don't want to hurt him more than I have. That is why I can't help him. If I go to him, he may take that as forgiveness or that I'm ready to try again. I'm not. What he did Sunday, that's going to take time. And whenever we take a step forward, things get ten times worse."

"Is there anything I could I do?" Kingsley asked. "Has this happened before?"

Molly shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line. "Arthur has never shut down like this, not that I know of." She rubbed her forehead. "His grandparents, especially his grandfather, know him better than anyone, even me. If this has happened before, they would know." She stood and retrieved a pen and notepad from the counter. She scribbled an address and tore off the piece of paper. "Here," she said, handing the paper to Kingsley, "they live in the countryside in Gloucestershire - Costin and Irene Weasley."

Kingsley read the address before standing and putting it in his pocket. Molly walked him to the back door.

"Kingsley," she said, "keep me updated?"

"Of course, Molly," he assured before walking back down the dirt path.

oOoOo

In an instant, Kingsley found himself in the middle of a field with a large farmhouse in front of him. Instead of the house growing up, like the Burrow, it grew out and consisted of two stories. He could barely make out the silhouette of a barn in the distance.

He spun around and drew his wand when a loud noise came from behind him. He let out a deep breath when he realized it was just a bull. However, he stiffened when it approached him and huffed. A sheepdog ran out of the darkness and between them. Slowly, he backed up to the house and did not turn around until he was on the porch.

He knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal the man he knew to be Arthur's grandfather, though they hadn't officially met. The dog darted into the house.

"Oops, sorry," Costin said as he watched the dog run in and lie on the couch. "Minister Shacklebolt," he said, eyebrows furrowed, when he turned around and saw who was at the door. "To what do we owe this honour?"

"Please, call me Kingsley," he said with a smile. "I am not here in that capacity, so treat me how you would anyone else."

"Of course. My apologies." Costin stepped back and opened the door wider. "Do come in."

Kingsley obliged. The bull nudged him in the back. He hadn't realized the beast followed him onto the porch and halfway into the house. Costin shooed the bull back out and closed the door.

"I'm sorry about that. Old Thomas wouldn't hurt a fly, but he sure looks scary, doesn't he?" he chuckled. "Damn thing thinks he's a dog." He stuck out his hand. "Costin Weasley," Costin introduced himself, shaking Kingsley's hand. "Arthur's grandfather, as I'm sure you already know."

"Yes, it is nice to officially meet you. I hope I am not interrupting."

"No, of course not." Costin waved off his concern. "My wife is in the kitchen making tea if you would like a cup," he offered.

"If it's no trouble."

"I already have it," a grey-haired witch said as she bustled out of the kitchen, levitating a tray with milk, sugar, and three steaming, mismatched mugs of tea in front of her. "Come on. Let's not just stand around."

The two men followed her into the sitting room. The tray carefully set itself down on the worn coffee table.

"I'm Irene," she told Kingsley cheerily.

"Kingsley," he reciprocated and gently shook her hand.

Introductions out of the way, they each took a mug. Costin nudged the sheepdog called Sid off of the couch before he and Irene sat. Kingsley took the armchair.

"So, Kingsley, what brings you here?" Costin prompted as he added a splash of milk to his tea.

"Well, I was hoping you could shed some light on a situation. Molly said I should talk to you."

"Is this about Arthur?" Irene asked, cradling her mug. Kingsley noticed it had a smiley-face sun and "Best Grandma" clumsily painted on it. Every few seconds, it changed color.

Kingsley nodded.

"I'm not sure we could be much help. He's been rather aloof lately."

"I daresay he's been avoiding us," Costin added with a heavy sigh.

"From what I can gather, it's more of something that may have occurred when he was younger," Kingsley clarified. "He seems to have…shut down, in a sense. He hasn't been at work. He's been in bed and will barely communicate."

The older couple shared a look and grim expressions.

"You know," Kingsley stated.

They nodded.

Costin cleared his throat and set his plain, blue mug down. "His mother suddenly passed away just before Christmas break his…" he thought briefly, "sixth year." Irene nodded in confirmation. "Needless to say, they came home a bit early - Arthur and Neil, that is. They were the only ones at Hogwarts that year," Costin clarified. "Anyway, Arthur, Neil, Ian, and Desmond stayed with us for a few weeks."

"Their father was unable to take care of them for a while," Irene put in. "It didn't help that the boys were convinced her death was caused by their father. Nothing was ever proven and Ian and Desmond were already in bed when it happened, so no one saw exactly what happened. But the fall woke up Desmond, and he saw Septimus standing over her, reeking of alcohol as usual. Poor boy was only nine. He's had a chip on his shoulder ever since. Anyway, all we know for sure is that Cedrella fell down the stairs."

"However, Septimus had more than his fair share of outbursts, so it isn't unreasonable to assume. We never could figure out why, but he was an angry child which caused him to become an angry and violent man." Costin frowned.

"The boys could have turned out very differently if Septimus wasn't the way he was. Even though we didn't have the money, we would have taken in all seven of those boys, but Cedrella was not going to have any of it. After she died, Septimus put up more of a fight for them than we expected," Irene said.

"And back in those days, it was still believed what happened between a man and his family was their business alone. Besides, my dad was a drunk and my brothers and I turned out alright," Costin added.

"I'm sorry," Irene apologized. "We went off on a tangent. You didn't care to know all of that."

"It's fine. Really," Kingsley assured. He took a sip of his tea. Sid the sheepdog came up to him and sniffed the mug when he lowered it. He moved the mug out of its reach and scratched its head.

"As a child, Arthur tended to act out," Costin continued. "When he became a teenager, he was quiet, so it was not unusual that particular Christmas break when he kept to himself."

"We did check on him, and his brothers, of course," Irene chimed in. "They had just lost their mother, after all. Arthur always said he was fine. Neither of us believed him. We just kept a closer eye on him. He spent more and more time in his bedroom here. One day, he wouldn't come out. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't eat."

Arms crossed, Costin scowled at the sugar bowl. "He didn't even move," he mumbled bitterly.

Irene rested a hand on her husband's knee. "We had a healer come out the next day, but he didn't find anything wrong. Costin had to work, so I watched the boys. Eventually, I was able to coax Arthur out of bed. Afterwards, he acted like nothing had happened. Like he merely had a cold."

"Then several years later, after he and Molly were married and already had two kids, it happened again. They couldn't agree on how to handle an extremely delicate situation, so he stayed here for a few days. That was the second, and only other time, he completely – How did you put it?" Costin asked.

"Shut down?" Kingsley offered.

"Shut down, that we know of. He made us swear never to mention it to Molly." He took a sip of tea. "And unless he told her about when he was sixteen, she wouldn't know about that either."

Kingsley got the feeling that there was more to that second instance than Arthur's grandparents were telling, but it was none of his business anyway. He took a deep breath. He would have never guessed Arthur Weasley had such a dark past. His jovial disposition and family-oriented mindset masked any disturbing secrets.

The older man rarely spoke of his time growing up, but when he did, they were happy memories. It hit him that he couldn't remember a time that Arthur spoke about his parents or grandparents. He never gave much thought as to why Arthur could easily fade into the background at Order meetings or get-togethers. Kingsley always assumed he was just a quiet person sometimes. Having been told all of this, Kingsley felt like he was invading Arthur's privacy. He hadn't expected his grandparents to go into so much detail.

"Thank you, for enlightening me," Kingsley said, setting his empty mug down. "Is there anything I can do to help him through this?"

"There's not much anyone can do, I'm afraid," Irene answered solemnly. "We'll go sit with him."

"Yes," Costin agreed. He stood. Irene and Kingsley were on their feet soon after. He shook Kingsley's hand. "Thank you for letting us know. He is lucky to have a friend like you."

Kingsley smiled. "Do you need his new address?" he asked.

"No, Molly gave it to us earlier this week."

The trio walked to the front door.

Before departing, Kingsley asked them to keep him informed. The couple offered to take the responsibility of updating Molly as well. The large bull had taken up residence on the porch, so Kingsley tip-toed around him.

oOoOo

The flat was dark when Costin and Irene arrived. Costin turned on a lamp in the bedroom while Irene took up residence on the edge of the bed. Arthur was asleep, but the expression on his face showed it was far from peaceful.

"Should we wake him?" Irene asked.

Costin studied his grandson's bare torso where the covers had slid down. It could have been a trick of the light or how he was lying, but Costin thought he could just make out the outline of a few ribs. He frowned. "He needs to eat something," he responded.

Irene patted Arthur's leg and softly called his name in an attempt to wake him while Costin looked in the kitchen for something Arthur could eat. A few moments later, Arthur's eyes fluttered open and Costin came back empty-handed.

Arthur was lying on his back, but his face was away from the door. Costin quietly asked if he was awake. Irene nodded.

"His kitchen is empty. I'm going back to the house to get him something. Tomorrow, I'll go by the store," Costin informed as he walked around the bed where his wife sat. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear, "See what you can do while I'm gone." He patted Arthur's foot on his way out.

Irene tried to get him to sit up. He wouldn't. She tried to get him to talk. He wouldn't. She tried to get him to look at her. He wouldn't. When Costin came back with a bag of sandwiches, he wouldn't eat. Nothing they tried worked. Eventually, Arthur closed his eyes again, but it was unclear if he did that to get them to leave him alone or if he fell back asleep.

They sat with him for a few hours before Costin transfigured the couch into a bed and insisted Irene get some sleep. It was another couple of hours before he joined her.

It took two days before they made any progress with their grandson. Between the attempts at getting him up or getting him to at least eat, Irene rambled on and on about the family: Arthur's brothers, and nieces and nephews, and great-nieces and great-nephews. It distracted him somewhat from his own thoughts and prevented him from sleeping. However, the incessant rambling annoyed the hell out of him.

"Shut up," Arthur croaked when he finally had enough.

Irene abruptly stopped talking. Thinking she misheard or imagined it, she looked down at him skeptically.

"Leave me alone."

She smiled sadly at him. Running her fingers across the side of his face and pushing hair out of his eyes, she quietly said, "There's the voice I've wanted to hear."

"Will you leave now?" he asked, his voice rusty from disuse.

"Not until you're up, showered, dressed, and eaten."

"Not until you leave."

"It seems we are at an impasse then," Gran said. It wasn't long before she continued her story about the bull that thought he was a dog. "This summer, I was out in the garden and your grandfather was napping inside. You know we leave the doors open in the warm months to let some fresh air in. The next thing I know, there's a shout from inside the house. I rush in, and see your grandfather with Thomas trying to climb in his lap with Sid."

Arthur groaned and covered the side of his head with the pillow.

Gran moved the pillow. "Oh, you always love these stories," she said.

"Not when you talk continuously," he griped.

"Why don't you sit up and I'll make you a sandwich then?" she suggested, giving his leg two pats before going into the other room, allowing no room for him to protest.

Arthur did not want to get up or eat, but he knew Gran would not leave him alone if he didn't. Don't get him wrong. He loved both of his grandparents and was thankful for them, but he was not in the mood. Slowly, he pulled himself up. He propped up against the headboard. This small action told him how stiff he was.

"There we go!" Gran said cheerily as she came in with a sandwich and glass of water. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"No," Arthur said. He drank most of the water in one go, so Gran refilled it. He stared at the sandwich in his lap. "Where's Gramps?"

"He left a while ago to take care of the animals."

Arthur picked up the ham sandwich and sniffed it.

"You need to eat," his grandmother told him.

"Not hungry," he mumbled.

"That's impossible. You haven't eaten in Merlin knows how long. Take a few bites."

Reluctantly, Arthur obeyed.

"How long have you been like that?" Gran asked seriously.

Arthur swallowed the flavorless bite of sandwich. "Like what?"

"You know what I mean," she deadpanned.

"You could mean a number of things," he rebutted.

"How long have you been lying in bed like that?" she clarified.

Arthur shrugged and choked down another bite. "When was the wedding?"

"You've been like that for a week?" Gran asked in disbelief with furrowed eyebrows.

"S'pose so."

"Why?"

Arthur shrugged again. He put the half-eaten sandwich on the plate and took the glass of water.

"You have had me, your grandfather, Kingsley, and Molly worried sick."

Arthur's eyebrows knit together. "If Molly was so worried, where is she?" he asked harshly.

"I don't know her reasons, Love, but I do know she cares about you and loves you."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not talking about this." He stood up and stretched. A few joints popped.

"Where are you going?" Gran asked as he left the room.

"Shower," was his short reply.

"You need to stop running away," Gran said, following him. "You've done that your whole life."

Arthur turned on his heel to face her. "That's not true! I fought in a bloody war. You didn't see me running away then," he argued.

"I don't mean physical threats, Sweetheart. You weren't allowed to process your emotions as a child, and that carried over into adulthood. But it is past time for you to deal with this. No one will hurt you if you express your feelings."

"You think I don't know that? I know Septimus isn't going to come back from the dead and beat me because I'm not happy." He stared her down, but she stared back just as fiercely. "This conversation," he gestured between them, "is over. You can show yourself out," he added before shutting the bathroom door in his grandmother's face.

Gran was right about one thing. The hot water loosened up his muscles and joints. Getting a shower made him feel better in general. He trimmed his beard and brushed his teeth, too. Well, Arthur had to admit she was right about more than that, but he wouldn't let her know that.

When he came out of the bathroom, it was a good thing he had a towel wrapped around his waist because Gran was still there.

"I thought I told you to leave," he said softly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Gran stated.

She gave him a minute to put on some pants, but was right back in the bedroom afterwards. Arthur put on a button-up shirt. Seeing how baggy it was on him, Gran offered to cast a temporary charm to shrink it a little. Arthur refused. When he put on his watch and it spun loosely around his wrist, she offered to adjust it.

"No," Arthur replied.

"It will be aggravating," she reasoned.

"What's aggravating right now is you," Arthur snapped. Immediately, he regretted it. "I'm sorry, Gran," he apologized and sat next to her on the freshly-made bed with clean sheets. He held out his wrist to her. She muttered and tapped the watch. It became snug on his wrist.

"Better?" she asked.

Arthur felt the watch. "Yes, thank you." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

They sat in a brief silence until Gran said, "Come and live with me and your grandfather for a while."

Arthur looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "So you can keep an eye on me?"

"Yes," Gran answered frankly. Good old Gran, always direct. Arthur wished Molly would be blunt like that sometimes.

Arthur shook his head. "No, look, I'm fine now. I'm up. I ate something. Everything is fine," he assured.

"You do not need to be alone right now," Gran stated firmly.

"You have great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren coming through all the time. I don't need to be around them," Arthur said, fidgeting with his wedding band.

"Don't you even think that," Gran said, squeezing his knee. "Besides, you'll be at work all day and they'll be gone before you get home most days."

"Okay. What if I come in drunk one night and get into it with Gramps or – or hit you?" he asked quietly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.

Gran patted his shoulder to gain his attention. When he looked over at her, she half-teased, "Don't you worry about that. I won't hesitate to hex you."

This provoked a smirk to tug at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "That'll deter me. Merlin knows, I've had enough of that the past few years."

Gran smiled. "Now, let's see about getting some tea and a decent lunch in you before getting you packed." She squeezed his shoulder as she stood.

"Gran," Arthur said.

She turned around.

"Thank you."

A/N: Thanks for Chapter 30's reviews! (Oh! And WFF exceeded 100,000 words last chapter!) Please let me know what y'all thought about 31. I did not plan on including his grandparents much, but it looks like we will see a good bit of them for now.

As for Fleur's pregnancy, Victoire isn't born until 2000, so I haven't put much thought into it yet. However, there will be at least a little something about that.

Also, check out my new one-shot: "A Ginger Announcement!"

Thanks! See y'all soon!