Here y'all go, Chapter 40! I initially intended for the next chapter to be part of this one, but it ended up being the length of Chapter 30, so I broke it in two. With that being said, the next chapter is completely written and only has some revision to be done, so I will have it up in a few days, at most.

Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and follows! Please keep those reviews coming.

I'm really loving getting to explore Arthur's brothers and past more in these chapters. I hope y'all are enjoying getting to know them.

Also, check out MandyinKC's story "Fatherhood," which is now complete! I really enjoyed getting to beta that for her.

Uncertain Outcomes: Part Two

Early Thursday morning, Ian was the first to return. Things were okay between him and Arthur since the argument the previous evening was primarily between Trenton and Arthur. Molly showed up not long after, keeping her promise and bringing two dozen ham and cheese croissants with her for whoever wanted one. When Gran arrived with the two sons who had gone home with her the night before, Ian barely gave her a chance to come through the door before he was standing in front of her. Arthur couldn't help but overhear Ian's sincere apology. As always, Gran was quick to forgive. Not everyone who had been there the first three days were there all day Thursday, but they, along with other relatives, stopped in periodically throughout the day.

That evening, a very bemused "M-Minister Shacklebolt?" brought everyone's attention to the tall, black wizard who had just entered the private waiting room. The various Weasley relatives fell silent.

"Oh, hello, Kingsley," Gran greeted.

"Irene," Kingsley's low voice rumbled. He offered a sympathetic smile. "I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear of Costin's accident."

Arthur wondered when Kingsley and his grandparents got on a first-name basis. The only time he'd ever seen them in the same vicinity was at Percy's wedding. He made a mental note to ask later, but it really wasn't that important.

"Yes," Gran said. "Well, all we can do now is wait."

"I do hope he gets better soon," Kingsley said sincerely.

"Thank you."

Kingsley made his way to the far side of the room where Arthur and Molly sat. He hugged Molly and shook Arthur's hand before taking a seat himself. The other occupants of the room returned to their own conversations.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" Molly asked first and foremost. "Let me fix you a plate."

"Molly, that's not necessary," Kingsley chuckled. Molly was always trying to feed someone. "I don't want to impose. I can –"

"Nonsense! There's plenty of food left," she countered before bustling off to the small, short tables holding the takeaway containers.

"What, no Aurors on protection detail today?" Arthur asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I told them to wait in the hall. How have you –"

"Don't ask me that," Arthur calmly but quickly cut him off, crossing his arms. He didn't mean to be rude and he knew Kingsley was genuinely concerned, being a good friend, but Arthur still hated it when people asked how he was, especially when the answer was so obviously negative. Not to mention, he wasn't in that great of a mood anyway. Ask him on a good day and he couldn't be happier to tell you, but when things weren't going well, not so much.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "When I noticed you hadn't been at work in a few days, I went to your department and Perkins told me you left Monday due to what seemed like an emergency and that he hadn't heard from you since. I was afraid you'd gone off and done something –"

"Stupid?"

"I was going to say regrettable, but yours works, too – Then I saw your brother, Neil, at work this afternoon and he told me what happened and that you've been here."

"I'm sorry, Kingsley. I should've sent an owl. It completely slipped my mind."

"That's understandable."

Molly returned with a heaping plate of curry and handed it to Kingsley. Friendly conversation ensued as he ate, most of which consisted of him asking about their anniversary trip. This proved a welcome distraction for Arthur. Pretty much all he had been able to think about the past few days was Gramps and the events that led to them being there. Reflecting on their recent vacation helped bring him out of those negative thoughts.

After visiting a while, Kingsley said, "Molly, would you give us a few minutes please? Arthur and I have some business to discuss."

When Molly was out of earshot, Arthur lowered his voice and said, "Let me guess, this is about the amount of work I've missed."

"It is," Kingsley admitted before casting Muffliato. "I understand some things are unavoidable and I know you don't take off work without good reason, but you have fallen very far behind in your responsibilities and have been slacking when you have been at work recently. Is there any particular reason for that? Is there anything I need to know?"

Arthur scratched at four days' worth of stubble on his chin as he thought back on the past few months. When he first took on the job, he quite literally buried himself in work, especially after Ginny went back to Hogwarts and even more so after he finally quit drinking. Then when he and Molly got back together, everything took a backseat to fixing his marriage and his relationship with his children. It wasn't just that, though; the trouble sleeping and new stress brought on by the recent diagnosis surely impaired his work as well.

"No, I'm sorry. I will get back on top of things and get caught up," he assured. "You have my word."

Kingsley studied him for a long moment. He had no doubts that Arthur would get caught up, but he got the feeling the older man was holding something back. Deciding he would tell him if it was truly important, Kingsley shrugged and left it at that. "Alright. Look, I don't want to sound like anything is more important than family, but do you have an idea of when you'll be back at work? Tomorrow, maybe? Monday?"

"Honestly, that's been the last thing on my mind. And I really don't want to leave. So, what if I brought some work here? Would that be okay?"

"As long as something is getting done. And I don't see why Perkins can't oversee the department meetings tomorrow and Monday if he's okay with it. I do need you back sometime next week, though."

Arthur nodded his understanding. He did not, however, make any verbal commitment. A week was a long time away. If something came up and he couldn't come back to work just yet, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

oOoOo

Friday went much the same way as Thursday. The biggest difference was that Arthur Flooed over to the Ministry first thing and stuck several, thick stacks of paperwork into his briefcase. At the hospital, he turned his little corner into a makeshift office. Since there wasn't enough room to transfigure any furniture, he had papers scattered across chairs in a form of organized chaos and used his briefcase as a table. He worked almost nonstop all day, only breaking for lunch and dinner when Molly forced him to.

That night, after most people had gone home, including Molly, Arthur's concentration was broken once again when someone plucked the quill out of his hand in the midst of writing. When he looked up, Charlie was looking around at his little "office" with a mixture of amusement and concern, the quill dangling from between his fingertips.

Pointing at the quill, Arthur said, "I need that."

"Maybe you should call it a night, Dad," Charlie suggested.

"I need to at least finish this," Arthur replied, gesturing to the paper on the makeshift table in his lap.

Charlie handed the quill back and found an empty chair, careful not to knock anything off the ones Arthur was using.

Watching his dad as he worked, Charlie noticed a few things he hadn't when he'd stopped by the day before: The reappearance of facial hair reminded him of the rare occasions he'd seen Arthur when he'd been drinking so heavily in the fall, the main difference this time being that it was unkempt. Arthur's drawn, pale face and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, and was much more anxious than he let on. Charlie didn't fully understand why Arthur was in this condition. Sure, this was a terrible situation and Charlie knew his dad was extremely close with Gramps, but no one else seemed to have this reaction, except maybe Desmond, but even he had gone home. Things didn't add up.

When Arthur came to a stopping point, he set what was in his lap onto the floor and stood. Several joints popped as he stretched.

"Come on, let's get some tea," he told Charlie.

They made their way upstairs in a comfortable silence. By the time they reached the tearoom, Arthur changed his mind and decided to have a strong, plain, black coffee instead; he knew he shouldn't and he'd had more than a perfectly healthy person should the past few days, but no one was there to tell him he couldn't and he needed the energy the caffeine provided no matter how short-lived. Once they had their hot beverages, they found two plush armchairs in the corner of the nearly deserted tearoom.

"Your mum send you?" Arthur quietly inquired.

"Well…yeah," Charlie confessed. His mum didn't force him to check on his dad; he had volunteered after they had a brief discussion when she walked him and his siblings out after their visit. The responsibility should not always lie with Bill. Besides, maybe this would help mend his relationship with his dad. "Mum's worried about you – We all are."

There was no denying anything. Arthur knew he looked like hell. Molly had brought him his toothbrush and a change of clothes, but he hadn't shaved and the little sleep he got was far from restful.

"Why won't you go home?" Charlie asked outright.

Arthur frowned. "Tell you what; I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

"Fair enough."

"Am I the reason you didn't go back to Romania?" he asked, a question that had been nagging him for longer than he'd like to admit.

The former dragon trainer hesitated briefly, taken aback by his father's question. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. "Um…yeah. Partially. I mean, I was on the fence about it, but the way you were acting is what really helped make the decision."

"Son, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept you from doing what you love."

"Dad, I'm happy," Charlie interrupted. "This is the most I've been around family in years. If anything, you helped me make the right decision. Yes, I've dreamt of working with dragons for as long as I can remember – and I got to live that dream – and I miss it. But now is not the time for that. The dragon reserve isn't going anywhere, so if I decide I want to go back, I'll be able to. But I was reminded recently – and rather forcefully – that family isn't forever. Someone who's here today may be gone tomorrow."

Charlie was about to repeat his question, but stopped when Arthur sighed.

"You know, what you did for your mother," he said, looking his son in the eye, "I'm proud of you for that."

With a small shrug, Charlie said, "It wasn't a good situation. I just did what I thought was best."

"Still, it couldn't have been easy. I wish I had been brave enough to do that for my mum," Arthur confessed.

The significance of that statement was lost on Charlie. While all of Arthur's children knew they weren't allowed to see their grandfather because he was an alcoholic, they never knew there was a much more serious reason behind it. It surprised Arthur that none of them asked why their parents didn't find issue with their Uncles Bilius and Trent being around when, as far as they knew, their uncles were the same way as Grandpa Septimus. Just as well, that was something you don't tell your children without extreme discretion and was a discussion Arthur really did not want to have.

In fact, his children were so disconnected form that situation most of them spent many years believing Gran was their grandmother and Arthur's mother, it not quite clicking that she couldn't be their dad's mum when she was their Grandpa Septimus's mum. Then, one year when Arthur was taking flowers to place on his mother's grave, Charlie overheard and wanted to tag along ("I'm taking these to Mum, Molly, and I'll be right back."; "Can I go, Dad?"). When they Apparated into a cemetery instead of Gran and Gramps's farm, Arthur had to explain to a very confused and somewhat disappointed ten-year-old Charlie that Gran was not his mother, his mother had passed away a very long time ago. Arthur had no one to blame but himself, though; he never talked about his mum and never thought it necessary to explain to his kids how they were related to Gran and Gramps.

"It probably wouldn't have made much of a difference," Charlie tried to console, "because didn't Grandma pass away when you were in school, anyway?"

"It could have made a world of difference. You don't know how she died, do you?"

"I figured she was ill."

"No, she – uh…fell," Arthur said, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to push his speculations on his son, "down some stairs."

"You couldn't have helped that."

"There are a lot of skeletons in the Weasley family closet that you don't know about."

"Well, why don't you tell me about this one then?" Charlie asked, genuinely interested. "I'm in no rush."

Arthur thought long and hard on this as he drank his coffee. There were some things your children did not need to know and this was a place he hated going, but Charlie asked and he was old enough to hear the truth. With how rocky their relationship had been over previous months, Arthur didn't want Charlie to think he was deliberately hiding something from him either. But if Charlie knew, that might cause him to become wary of his father again. Arthur figured he'd take a chance.

"You have to swear not to tell anyone," he said.

"Even Bill?"

"Well…Bill's okay. But not even he knows everything. What he knows barely scratches the surface." Arthur took another moment to figure out the best way to begin. "Have you ever wondered why your mother and I never had a problem with your uncles, but strictly forbade you to be around your grandfather?" he asked.

"When I got older, I found it a bit strange, contradictory even. Bill said you and Grandpa didn't get along well and that he wasn't that great of a person."

Arthur scoffed. "That's the understatement of the millennium."

After taking another sip of coffee, he rested the nearly empty cup on his knee. Instead of looking back at his son, he stared at the paper cup as he spoke quietly. "My father was…extremely abusive. In my first eighteen years – into my twenties even – I had more bruises, broken bones, black eyes, and bloody noses than there are bones in my body" – Okay, that may have been an exaggeration, but Arthur wouldn't be surprised if it was true – "and only a handful of those were accidents or Quidditch-related injuries. My father never even needed a reason. He would get angry over the tiniest, most insignificant things." Finally, he looked over at Charlie. "That's why we never wanted you kids around him; why I'm so close with Gran and Gramps and my brothers; why I didn't go to my father's funeral or visit him when he was in here; why, while your mother loves talking about her childhood, I rarely talk about mine – You've probably heard more about that period in my life from stories your great-grandparents and uncles have told." He made sure to tread carefully with this last part. "And there are circumstances that make some of us think that your grandmother didn't just trip and fall down the stairs. But I guess that's something we'll never know for certain."

Shocked was an understatement for how Charlie felt at this revelation. He had absolutely no clue his dad had gone through any of that. It did explain a good bit, though.

After a momentary loss of speech, he said, "Dad, I – I'm sorry. If I knew it was something like that, I never would have asked. You didn't have to tell me any of that."

"I know."

Neither father nor son spoke for a while, sipping their drinks in silence.

"I didn't always want to have kids, you know?" Arthur confessed quietly, picking at the brim of his empty cup. "In fact, I was adamantly against the idea. Your mum helped change my mind, and since the moment I found out I was going to be a father, I strived to be the complete opposite of mine. I looked to Gramps as a role model. I went to him for advice. I still made mistakes, but that's to be expected. And I still needed constant reassuring. Last year…I feel like I failed. Like part of me still viewed that aggressive, drunken behavior as normal and acceptable. I knew what I was doing, though, and I knew it was wrong. But…" He sighed. "I don't know."

Charlie came to his defense without hesitation. "Dad, you're a fantastic father, always have been. Last year, you were just…spread too thin. You went back to work and were dealing with your own grief while helping nine other people deal with theirs. I'm sure it was easier to find a way to avoid all that."

"You're attitude sure has changed."

"Yeah, well, I've had some time to think."

"Your actions were justified and I am proud of you, but it still hurt, seeing how easy it was for you and Ron and your mum to drop me like that – like I was nothing to you."

"Ron and I were acting on our tempers more than anything. Honestly, I was using my anger to avoid how I was really feeling. And it wasn't easy for Mum, Dad. She was a complete mess even though she tried hiding it."

Arthur rubbed his face with his empty hand. "I hate that I put you all through that."

"Well, that's – uh – that's in the past now." Charlie said. "Right?"

Nodding, Arthur sighed, "Yeah, it is."

"So, how come you won't go home?" Charlie repeated his earlier question.

It took a moment before Arthur answered, knowing his son most likely would not have a good reaction to his response. But he knew honesty was key at this point. "I'm afraid I'm gonna drink if I leave. As long as I'm here, in the hospital, I'm safe. Once I step outside or into the Floo, there are no guarantees. I almost had Neil get my work for me today. That's how scared I am."

He braced himself for another shift in attitude from his son, a scathing remark or a scornful judgement, but none came. Instead, Charlie remained calm and asked, "Have you told Mum this?"

"I've not told anyone."

"You ought to tell Mum."

"That'll only worry her."

"She's already worried. If you tell her, she'll probably be less worried because she won't have to guess what the problem is."

"I'll talk to her in the morning," Arthur finally conceded.

Before heading back downstairs, Arthur bought another coffee. Charlie checked if his dad would be alright or if he wanted him to stay as well. After he said he would be fine, Charlie departed to go to his own house and Arthur returned to his work.

oOoOo

Sometime after two in the morning, Arthur still had his nose buried in paperwork while two of his uncles and Ian slept (his uncles had been taking turns, but he figured Ian stayed out of guilt) when Trenton stumbled in smelling like a distillery and cigarette smoke. Breathing in deeply, Arthur immediately stopped writing, closed his eyes, and savored the smell. He held his breath for several seconds before letting out an explosive breath. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts that brought themselves to the forefront of his mind.

"Good, you're still here, li'l brother," Trenton slurred. "Li'l Artie – Little Artie Art." He put extreme effort into enunciating the last three words before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Arthur, however, was not amused.

"Go home, Trent, you're drunk."

"No – No, we – you an' me" – Trenton pointed to himself then to Arthur – "we need t' talk." He leaned forward and braced himself on the back of a chair stacked high with papers. Both he and the chair went crashing to the floor, the contents of the chair scattering in all directions. The other three men in the room stirred. Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. After emptying his lap, he rubbed his face and stood.

"Alright, Trent?" he asked, holding a hand out for his older brother.

With Arthur's help, Trenton got to his feet. His face lit up like it was the first time he'd seen him and they hadn't had a big row a few days ago. "Hey! I's jus' lookin' for you."

"You don't say."

Clapping Arthur on the shoulder, Trenton continued, "Yup, we – w-w-we – we have t' talk. Right now – Wait." He facepalmed and stared wide-eyed at Arthur. "We should've talked two days ago."

"Hey, Trent, we can talk in the morning, alright?" Arthur spoke slowly so it was more likely Trenton would understand. Nevertheless, Trenton kept trying to start the conversation while Arthur led him to some empty seats and got him situated, his feet propped up and a conjured blanket placed on top of him. He placed a couple charms over the area as well to conceal the strong smell of alcohol and muffle any noise that may come from his brother.

Arthur sat beside Trenton while he listened to his incoherent ramblings and waited for him to fall asleep. He wondered if this was what Trenton's late wife, Kathleen, had to put up with their entire marriage – Probably not. When Arthur went out with his two older brothers, he couldn't recall Trenton ever being this bad. According to Neil, Trenton had completely gone off the rails after Kathleen was killed, an innocent bystander, by Death Eaters in '96. Whether it was guilt for flirting with other women on a regular basis even though he never actually cheated on Kathleen and being an absent husband and father or if it was just his way of dealing with his grief, he never told anyone. One thing was for certain, though; he took his playboy lifestyle to an all new level after losing his wife.

Finally, Trenton passed out midsentence. He never actually got to what he and Arthur needed to talk about, but Arthur thought he knew.

When Arthur returned to his seat, he couldn't help wondering if Trenton had a flask on him. Again, the answer was "Probably not." Trenton had always been a social drinker, going to bars or inviting people over. Most holidays and special occasions with the Weasleys meant there would be alcohol. So it was pointless, really, for Trenton to even own a flask. That was just as well for Arthur; the temptation had been removed without even being there in the first place. The hospital remained safe, though Trenton's presence did not help any.

Thankful for the twenty-four hour service of the tearoom, Arthur decided to go up for what must have been his sixth cup of coffee that night. When he got back, he tried to distract himself with paperwork until Molly returned a few hours later.